Bringing up Brahms
by Apprentice08
Summary: When Greta's rescue plan fails she is trapped inside the mansion. She must find a way to get both her and Malcolm out. She will have to play the game that Brahms has started. But the rules have changed and as the stress and traumas build up around her Greta finds herself falling deeper into Brahms's madness, his company her only option, his eyes her demons, his mind her only escape
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Greetings! This will be my first ever fanfiction that is based inside the genre of horror and suspense. I saw** _ **The Boy**_ **for the first time last year, and I fell in love. Sadly, I have kept the first three chapters I wrote under lock and key for the last year as I did not have time to update and keep up with the story so I simply wrote a chapter when I had time. Unfortunately, I am only in a little better situation to write. I am currently working on a story called** _ **Body Snatcher**_ **which is under the movie** _ **Casper**_ **as well as have several other stories that are incomplete.**

 **Please do try to be patient with me and just leave encouraging reviews to help propel me forward. My Casper fic is a very simple story and doesn't take a lot of thought or planning, this story however is a psychological horror thriller so for it to be any good the plot needs to be strong and the story must flow and have few loopholes.**

 **I cannot promise you this will be the most well thought out story but I have wanted to post and share this for over a year. Please enjoy what I have so far and I will try to post as regularly as I can.**

 **NOT EDITED**

 **WARNINGS: All chapters are based in horror and most will either have scenes of a sexual nature. I will rate this at T for the first three chapters but once I post the fourth chapter I will be changing it to M. Please be aware this story will talk about sexuality, psychological issues and traumas, rape and will contain swearing, talk of suicide, sex scenes and blood and gore. If any of this bothers you or is a trigger please do not read OR read with extreme caution. I will try to narrow down each warning more thoroughly to reflect what each chapter contains as I post.**

 **There will be some light hearted moments, some tender moments but this is not necessarily a romance so much as a story about what can happen to the human mind when it is under duress, stress and threat. Survival of the fittest.**

 **This story will take place at the moment Greta escapes from the Heelshire mansion and is running through the woods. It will change and branch off from the original movie storyline when she tries to kill him with the screwdriver.**

 **Read, review and of course, enjoy.**

 **Chapter One**

 **As I Lay me Down to Sleep**

She can't breath, her heart is like a bomb in her chest that is exploding. She rushes through the woods, her lungs heaving and body feeling like it's high as a kite.

Greta doesn't look back, she doesn't dare look back for fear of what she might see behind her.

Her mind is screaming, filled with warning bells and that pungent ever driving shot of adrenaline making her move faster than she ever has in her life.

She wasn't even this scared when Cole would go into one of his many rages, she wasn't this pumped with endorphins and adrenaline when she was on her way to the hospital, her last desperate attempt to save the only truly innocent thing in her life.

Through the trees and brush she could just barely make out the gates, she is almost there, almost free. Free of Cole, Brahms and this haunted house of horrors.

Another name flashes before her mind's eye and despite her instincts pushing Greta to go, her feet began to slow and the fear begins to take a turn.

Not for the preservation of herself but for the preservation of another.

She hears a distant scream, her eyes darting to the ground at the realization.

"No." She whispers out into the cool night air. In quick succession she sees images of herself running. Running from Cole, from the loss of her child and from a life she no longer wanted, running from Brahms…

She had not wanted to run from Malcolm, and that man, the one who didn't know how to flirt, who had made her feel so welcome, who had ignited a flame of want in her body after so long being dormant… he had returned for her...protected her from Cole and shielded her from Brahms.

 _Always running, Greta, like a wild animal from the fires of life…_

"No." She says again.

The sound of her own mother's voice….the words from just before she left… made the young woman freeze and she walked a tight circle as she ran a hand over her forehead.

 _This is it Greta, you've run from everything… and it only got worse. Time to face this...time to grow up._

"Malcolm." She nods with surety, and slowly she turns and heads back to the house.

PAGEBREAK

Greta is in the hall when she sees him, the hair on the back of her neck stands on end, her instincts are in true form tonight.

Cole is still laying on the floor in the pool room, blood still oozing out though it has slowed considerably, he is still dead and frozen with a face of eternal shock.

She is numb as she looks upon him, any of her emotions for the man, good bad or ugly, dying with him.

She senses movement in the darkness and her head slowly turns to peer into it. Before she actually spies him she knows Brahms is silhouetted against the window, his body tense as he stands there watching her.

She had started formulating a plan as soon as she had decided to go back, she only hoped it would work and she wasn't too late.

"I came back for you, Brahms." She starts with hesitancy, her fear causing a tremble in her voice.

Slowly he moves forward, emerging from the shadows like the phantom he is.

She tries again, needing him to remain calm so she can try to gain control. The screwdriver in her back pocket a comforting reminder that she is not without aid.

"I told you I wouldn't leave you, and I didn't did I." She states quickly, his loud breathing seeping out from behind his mask like a gas leak from a pipe.

His height is formidable, it isn't until this very moment she truly comes to comprehend how much danger she has been in. She was alone in this house with a fully grown, mentally unbalanced man, who has some great need of her.

He wants her, in more ways than one and she confirms this as he grows closer, stepping right in to her personal space, leaning down to smell her hair and give the faintest of moans.

"I didn't did I?" She repeats as more anxiety floods her voice and this slip seems to excite him more.

She feels his mask brush the top of her head, sees him lean closer and hears how his breath increases.

She sees his hands start to come up, notices how they shake and his fingers bend violently as if to grab her and panic forces her to react.

"Brahms!" She yells sternly and to her great relief he jumps a little and jerks back, looking at her sidelong with curiosity and mild confusion.

"It's time for bed now." he looks down at her and tilts his head to the side, his eyes focusing on her with dubious belief.

She grows more confident and says sharply, "Brahms, I said it's time for bed."

She thinks she sees defiance in his eyes but can't show her fear, she cannot be submissive, she MUST remain dominate. "Let's go." She orders as she moves away from him and down the hall, "You know the rules."

Almost reluctantly, he starts to walk, a tentative slow pace as he moves past her and down the hall.

He enters into the bedroom slowly, coming to stand just near enough to the bottom corner of his bed to allow her entrance. Though his back remains to her his head peers over his shoulder, waiting for her to follow him.

Greta flicks on the light quickly when she sees how dark the room has become. Her eyes nervously darting to the broken weapon in his hand.

"Put that down now, Brahms." her voice remains soft and he complies almost instantly.

The tip of the harpoon makes a loud thunk as he releases it but she moves past it as he brings his hands behind his back and waits patiently.

"Ready for bed?" She asks, still feeding a false calm into every word she speaks.

He nodes and maneuvers around her, seemingly eager to be tucked in. "Under the covers." She adds, knowing its a paper thin restraint but that every little bit helps.

She tucks him in, it takes all her willpower not to look at those dead eyes softly staring up at her.

"Now, be a good boy and go straight to sleep, okay?"

He stares a moment longer, those eyes appearing relaxed and calm but her insides crawl at the dullness of them. Perhaps that is more creepy to her than the mask, the fact his eyes hold little to no emotion save for bouts of rage and anger.

From behind the mask a single word emerges, strangled and weak as he tries to maintain the child-like voice he has so often hid behind while simultaneously laying down.

"Kiss."

"No kiss tonight, Brahms. It's your punishment, I'm sorry."

She offers up a small smile, his eyes seem to focus more at her denial of his wants, a certain dissatisfaction at the prospect of her not finishing the list.

"Okay." she says in hopes of ending the night with finality. Greta stands, hoping to god that he will accept his punishment and not throw a tantrum.

As she moves away from the bed though, her hopes are dashed for he shifts behind her and suddenly a vice like grip takes hold of her wrist and she looks back to him, trying to push more fear down even as it surges up from her gut.

"Kiss." He says again, his voice even weaker, more pathetic. He pulls her back gently as he once again lays down and she knows how unsure she must appear as she stares at the doll mask planted firmly on his face.

She can't tell if he is sincere or playing with her, can't tell if this is the young boy who wants a mothers love or the grown man who covets her body.

If Greta could only know how much of this was clever manipulation versus mental trauma and psychosis she may have been able to counter his demands.

But she doesn't know how smart he truly is, doesn't know how self aware and conscious he

is of his actions.

So, as long as he has hold of her, she cannot continue on, she must comply but she mustn't show her fear.

Making the decision to do it quickly, knowing that if this is the boy it will be done and over with in seconds, she allows him to pull her closer.

As Greta leans down his hands shift to slide up her arms and take her shoulders. His hold is strong but gentle and she tries to focus on how hard she would need to push in order to get away.

An attempt to press her kiss to the bloody cheek of the mask fails as he turns his head and she is mashed up against cold porcelain lips.

Hoping he is done, she turns her head away but he pursues and finds her lips again, this time easing up to meet her fully as a lustful moan creeps out from behind his mask.

Her hand grabs the screwdriver as he tries to pull her closer and before she can take a second to think she plunges it in, the man behind the mask gasping in shock.

However, his shock wanes fast and he screams out indignantly, his hand thrusting her away. She yells as her feet leave the ground, his strength giving her a new shock when she realizes its near inhuman.

She is up quickly, planning to beeline for the door when a hand finds her throat and tosses her back against the wall.

A grunt bursts out at the jarring slam, air gushing from her lungs as fingers tighten painfully.

She tries to beg, she doesn't want to have to hurt him more. She doesn't WANT to be a murderer. God she doesn't want to die.

As Greta gazes out to see those shining eyes there lies a world of emotions; anger, fear, pain and hurt, betrayal, torment… blood lust, all flashing like bright orbs in the dark of his eye.

Somewhere, deep down, well into the darkest parts of her mind she feels pity for this creature. Neither man nor child, unwanted yet loved by his parents, obviously reaching his grimy hands for something...anything...whether to ease his insanity and blood lust or because he is truly lonely she knows she will never find out.

She wonders if this is how Emily Cribbs died, strangled first, than her face bashed in and she hopes that little girl didn't suffer as long as she is.

Her will to survive outways her pity and she reaches a hand to grasp onto the screwdriver still embedded in his side.

Brahms sees it coming though, must realize how desperate she is to not die and he presses her up the wall higher, a lone hand holding her in place as his other hand takes hold of her wrist and yanks it away, the tool coming with it.

He steals it from her bloodied grasp and quickly slams it through the wall next to her head, just inches away from her left ear.

Now free of the tool his other hand twists fingers into her hair and he grips it tight as he brings her down from her suspended hang, the mask coming to rest just inches from her face.

"You are mine to love and care for, Greta. Mummy and daddy said so."

Her vision is near black now, the pressure behind her eyes dulling as she accepts that he is going to kill her, to choke her into darkness, remove the oxygen to extinguish her flame.

"Brahms-" she manages out, the barest wheeze of his name, "Be good for them, who ever comes next. Be...a...good….boy...for….me." Just before her vision goes dark she sees those vengeful eyes narrow and realization seems to hit him.

His hold doesn't tighten anymore, in fact, it loosens. But it doesn't matter, for as she tumbles down into the realm of nightmares and dark she takes comfort in the fact that once she is dead she won't have to run anymore, and that, to her, sounds like a dream come true.

PAGEBREAK

It is a blaring light that greets her, the pounding in her head is ungodly and she knows instantly that she is restrained.

Her back twinges and aches as she tries to sit up, her head hanging at an odd angle and causing a sharp pain in her neck.

"Oh...ow…" she manages out and when she finally fights off her stiff muscles she raises her head to see where she is.

The kitchen of Heelshire mansion stares back at her and she gives out a devastating sob as she realizes that Brahms didn't kill her.

She coughs a little as her throat is swollen from his gripping hands, and tears start to flow down her face.

"Gr-Greta?" Comes a strained call and she jumps in her seat, looks over her shoulder to see Malcolm, bound to a chair, but exceedingly alive.

"Ohmygod, Malcolm….are you alright? Did he hurt you? I heard you screaming-"

"No, I'm okay….I'm fine… just...what are you doing here? I told you to run!"

"I came back for you, I c-couldn't….I couldn't...go. Not without you." She said truthfully, "I wasn't….wasn't thinking...I should have gone for help….but I thought...by the time I got to them….you'd be...he would have….and he would be gone...I thought I could…"

"It's okay Greta, it's okay, calm down...the good news is we have two heads to think a way out." and though it seems hopeless she finds comfort in his words.

She nods quickly in agreement and starts looking around the kitchen, hoping for anything to be close by or within her reach.

Her hands are tied behind her back to the chair, her feet secured to the legs and her waist has a few pulls of rope around it as well.

"I'm secure, even if there was something nearby I couldn't get to it." And Malcolm seems to agree with her assessment.

She glances to him and asks feebly, "What happened while I was out?"

Looking to the door and trying to make sure they aren't being overheard Malcolm talks slow, as if each word is a pain to utter, "After you ran out... Brahms took his anger out on me. I thought he would kill me but something stopped him. I think he must have heard you come back.

He left me in the passage and I blacked out. When I...when I woke up I was being tied to this chair. Ten minutes later he brought you in, tied you there and left. Haven't seen him since...it's been two hours maybe...sun will be up soon."

Greta nods at this and swallows, "H-how long until you are missed?" She asks, for she knows at this point they could both be dead before that happens.

Malcolm thinks a moment and then sighs, "A week."

"A w-week..a week? I thought you owned the store...surely they would notice if the owner-"

"Who just took his yearly holiday because there was a pretty girl up the road and he was stupidly hoping to spend time with her is missing? Yeah, I… was a little presumptuous-"

A smile slowly pulls to her face and she shakes her head, "No...you weren't."

He looks at her in surprise and then he too gives a small smile in return.

Greta sobbers quickly though, as any idea of romance or a happy future must be put on hold until they are free.

Her chest tingles with anxiety and she speaks even though she realizes it isn't going to help them in anyway, "I thought….he was going to kill me. I had him for a second...stabbed him with a screwdriver….but...he just...it didn't even phase him. Just pissed him off."

Malcolm nodded though he looked shocked at the news, "He choked me out in the bedroom...I thought for sure when I blacked out...that was it...I could finally stop running...but...I guess not."

Malcolm gives her a look that screams both pity and understanding and he goes to speak when suddenly a soft call comes from the doorway, "Greta?" They both look over to see Brahms standing there, his bare feet reflecting off the polished kitchen floor.

Eyes peer out at her, the call of his innocent child like voice making her stomach crawl. He is still wearing the same outfit, still filthy from his run through the house, from killing Cole. She sees his white shirt is blood soaked on the lower half and her fear of retribution runs deep.

Neither captive says a word and they watch as he slowly starts to approach. His eyes remaining on her, his entire being seeming to revolve around nothing but the woman in the chair.

"Greta." Brahms says again, this time coming to stand before her and looking down. A small trail of blood follows him and she realizes the wound she inflicted hasn't been tended to.

She sees his mask has been cracked down the center, a hairline fracture and she can't help but frown at the metaphor of it all.

"Your mask...Brahms, it's cracked." She whispers and he cocks his head to the side, a hand coming to gently touch his most sacred possession.

He doesn't say anything in response and from behind his back he pulls out an object. Her heart stops at the sight of it, the doll she had cared for these past couple months lovingly repaired and staring at her.

"Take. It. Greta." And the child like voice of young Brahms washes over her, "Take. Him. So we can play."

Greta's mind tries to digest this, tries to sift through the thin layer of haze that still remains and she finds herself getting sick.

Her stomach lurches and she turns her head to the side as a pool of sick forms on the floor. She gasps for air and tries to cough up the rest, her nose burning and eyes watering.

"God...Fuck." She gasps.

A hand grips her firmly on the jaw and yanks her head around, "Mummy says no swearing."

Greta stares up into those suddenly narrow eyes and takes a gulp of air, "Mommy's not here, Brahms. You're going to have to start using your big boy voice."

The man looks away, a bigger cock of his head to show more confusion as he thinks on her words.

"Don't you remember? In the passage, you told me to come back...that if I left you'd kill Malcolm...that wasn't the voice of a little boy...that was the voice of a big boy. Big boys make their own rules, you don't have to do this Brahms...you can let us go."

"Take. Him. Greta." He says by way of silencing her and he sets the doll on her lap.

"I don't want to play, Brahms." He ignores her as he walks to the sink and takes up a rag. He rings it out and makes his way back to her.

Greta is surprised when he kneels down and gently takes her jaw again, using the rag to clean her face, wipe her lips and remove the sweat from her brow.

He then throws the rag over her pile of sick on the floor and stands, moving away quickly and folding his hands behind his back.

"Greta." He says simply, no other instructions or offerings of what he might want.

She stares at him a moment longer before she speaks, "What? What do you want? I'm tied up Brahms...I can't do-"

"Will you play, Greta?" She stares at him a moment and then glances over to Malcolm who has remained silent this whole time.

Brahms seems to catch their eye contact and he lets out a blast of a noise as he gives a violent jerk towards her, Greta's head instantly snaps forward.

He stumbles to her and falls on the floor, sliding to rest at her feet as his hands come to her knees and slide up her thighs.

Another shot of adrenaline to her system makes her gasp and attempt to shift away in panic and instinctively she looks again to Malcolm.

"No!" Brahms suddenly yells, his true voice finally breaking through.

"You look at _me_!" he spits bitterly and a hand shoots up to take hold of her face, "You. Look. At. Me." He pants out, urgency and worry lacing his voice which flutters between a higher pitched whine and a low gravely demand.

Greta forces calm into her voice again, knows that one of the few things she can be sure of is that the more worked up she gets the more excited he becomes.

"Al-alright, Brahms. I'm looking at you. Tell me what you want." And she tries to keep the trembling in her voice from taking over, tries to keep the tears at bay as she realizes she is at his mercy for now.

The hand that remained on her thigh slides up a little further as he adjusts to sit more fully on his knees. The hand that had grabbed her face relaxes a little and soon enough a thumb strokes her cheek.

He seems to cry a little, a sort of half sob as his voice continues to jerk up and down, the confusion of what he is and what he wants from her becoming more clear every second.

"Wasn't I good? Wasn't I a good boy? Greta, pleeease...I did what you asked. I made the bad man go away...made it so you could stay...he was going to hurt you...I hurt him instead...you asked me to...you asked me-" and his words died on his lips as he starts to shake and sob truly.

She watches him in shock, realization hitting her that Brahms is right. For better or worse she _had_ asked him for help. While she had not wanted Cole to be killed she had unknowingly signed his death warrant the moment she had asked the doll to save her.

In her mind it would be divine intervention, a earth bound spirit helping to save her soul, and she had been ready to return that favor with her undying loyalty to him. Had seriously considered asking to stay on when the Heelshires had returned from their trip.

Greta had assumed Brahms a spirit trapped in the doll's body, not a man trapped in his own mind.

Had she known...if she had known who and what he was….she wouldn't have asked for his help, hell, she would not have taken the job.

No one would have stayed, and that sliver of pity she had buried so far down for this murderous creature came closer to the surface and she spoke softly, "You're right Brahms…"

The man before her stilled and the mask peered up, eyes shining wet through the holes as he looked at her, "You're right...you saved me...I asked for your help and you gave it to me willingly...thank you. You are such a good little boy."

Brahms breathing becomes excited, his eyes twinkling now as he leans closer and says eagerly, "Kiss?"

Greta feels her lips roll together as she stares at him in worry but at seeing him so set on a reward for his efforts she doesn't dare dash his hopes as the resulting tantrum could be very bad for both her and Malcolm.

She takes a deep breath and nods once, begging her heart to stay calm as she hears Brahms lick his lips behind the mask.

He presses on her thighs, moving them apart so his hips can slide between and his grasp on her face remains gentle but he holds her in place as that mask converges on her mouth.

"Kiss." His whispers near happily and she hopes with everything in her being that he doesn't get carried away. One hand rubs up her thigh the rest of the way to come and rest on her hip where he grips it tightly, the other hand sliding away from her face and into her hair.

His mask draws closer and she hears the way he is panting, sees the crazed excited look in his eyes as he eagerly seeks his reward.

"No! Get off her you bloody psychopath!" And both Greta and Brahms jerk their heads to look at Malcolm and a rabid growl escapes from his throat as he jerks up, runs over to his secondary captive and gives a swift smack to his face.

"No! Brahms, wait-" Greta calls but the towering seething man child whips his hand through the air again, this time balling his hand up and hitting Malcolm in the temple.

He goes limp, his head hanging as drool and a little blood dangle out from his mouth onto his pants.

Brahms screams and goes to swing again, this time raising both arms up and bringing his hands together, a sure fire way to kill if the hit is hard enough.

Greta finally finds her voice as he starts to move, "BRAHMS!" She shrieks and the man stops instantly, his face slowly turning to peer at her from under his raised arms.

"Brahms, please, come here...come to me…"

He continues to stare at her a moment before he looks to Malcolm reluctantly, she can tell how much he wants to do it, like a child who really desires that last cookie even though it belongs to someone else.

Greta is desperate to get his attention though and so sucks in a breath and says with authority, "Brahms, now!"

He lowers his arms and slowly turns away from the unconscious man looking to her with curiosity.

"Don't you want your kiss?" She asks him and at the offer Brahms nods slowly and she gives him a smile, "Yeah? Well come here then, you silly boy. Come give me a kiss."

His hands clench and unclench at his sides quickly, his right foot coming up to scratch at the back of his left calf only to then take a step towards her.

"That's it, come here you good boy. You deserve a reward. Come give me a kiss." And she keeps her voice sweet, the smile planted firmly in place and her eyes locked with his.

She has no doubt if she even spares Malcolm a single glance Brahms will resume his attack. Her eyes are only for him, a fact she is starting to learn quickly.

He gets within a few feet before he stops and she sees his body tense, his hands fist at his sides and she furrows her brow in confusion.

"Brahms? What's wrong?" She asks and ever so slowly his head turns downward, looking to the bloody spot of fabric over the wound she had inflicted only hours before. He looks back up at her and tilts his head to the side and Greta swallows as she realizes his dilemma.

"Brahms-" she starts but her mouth has gone dry. She clears her throat and tries again, "I am sorry I hurt you Brahms. You scared me...just like Cole scared you...you killed him because he was trying to hurt you...I tried to do the same because I thought you were trying to hurt me...do you understand?"

He stands there staring at her for a moment before he nods and she smiles again, "Do unto others as you'd have done to you. That is very important Brahms. Very important, now come get your kiss."

He moves to stand before her, slowly bends down, the mask hovering there and her stomach churns.

Those eyes look at her, studying her with intense focus before he lets out a small whimper and presses the mask to her lips.

Unlike in the bedroom it is quick, he places the lips of his mask on hers and waits only a few seconds before he retracts and stands up straight.

"Thank you, Brahms. That was very nice." the following silence is thick, though she can tell he has relaxed immensely and she feels a little worry of her own slide away. She must find a way to get out of this, to save Malcolm.

So far, Brahms has only ever hurt her when she hurt him, and truthfully the natural reaction to getting stabbed is to push the attacker away.

His choking of her a rage induced reaction by a fractured mind. Even now, considering how he has acted towards her, she retains her doubts about his willingness to actively or purposely hurt her.

If she tries to escape he grows frantic. If she shows Malcolm any favoritism, he gets jealous. If she denies him physical contact when he wants it he throws a tantrum.

All this indicates his childlike impulses are more dominant than his adult reasoning skills.

If she can remember these simple responses she may be able to get the better of him. Manipulating a child isn't difficult, dealing with them after they realize they have been tricked the hardest part.

"Brahms?" She questions softly and he tilts his head to the other side, his apparent way of responding to just about any questioning tone.

"Would you like me to help you...with that?" She nods her head to his wound and a shaky hand grabs the bottom of his shirt and pulls it up.

Greta winces as the fabric sticks and she realizes that because his trousers are dark she had not been able to see the amount of blood he has lost.

The hole in his stomach continues to bleed though it is slow and only trickles down his stomach. She doesn't see anything else trying to bulge out, no hernia or other.

 _Missed all essential organs, how could you miss them...you know where-_

"Greta? You will help me?" He asks her and she nods quickly, his voice swooning through to his upper register. "Yes Brahms, I will help you but you have to do something for me, alright?"

He lets go of his shirt and it clings to his skin, leaving his lower abdomen exposed and she notices the trail of hair disappearing below the edge of his pants is matted and filthy.

He nods and steps closer, "I need you to untie me-" he steps back quickly, shaking his head and letting off a growl, "N-no."

"Nonono, Brahms, shhh, its okay, its okay, calm down….hey….hey look at me-"

He has turned his face away at her gentle cooes and stomps his foot in protest.

"Brahms, hey...Brahms...I need you to look at me." Slowly, with great reluctance, he does and she smiles, "My special boy, aren't you my special boy? I can't help you if I am tied up. I can kiss your ouch and make it better...won't you let me help you? I promise, I promise I won't hurt you."

The irony if that statement is not lost on her, knowing just how much like Cole she sounds. It disgusts her, makes her feel slightly inhumane and she wonders if Cole ever felt this way when he promised to stop hitting her.

Brahms studies her a moment and then his eyes leave hers to travel to Malcolm. He looks at the man for a very long time until Greta realizes he is thinking.

"Brahms?" She calls in question softly.

His face turns back to her before a childish giggle escapes his throat and her heart jumps at the sound of it.

How he could manipulate his voice to sound so innocent...so childlike. It makes her skin crawl every time. She thinks about the envy of any ventriloquist would have if they met him. He can throw his voice around the house as if it is a ball, sound like a child so perfectly it makes her blood run cold.

She is pulled from her thoughts when Brahms opens a drawer and starts searching for something. After a moment he withdrawals a rather large knife and crosses to Malcolm.

"Brahms! Brahms, no! Please, god no! Please!" She sobs out as she closes her eyes and looks away.

There is no horrible squelching sound, no tangy smell of copper pervading the air and as she sobs into the silence her heart feels like it might give out.

As the quiet of the kitchen continues to ring she tries to calm her breathing and wait for the onslaught of violence but the call of her name makes her lookup, "Greta?" It's Brahms, that innocent child's voice echoing in her head like a haunting memory.

She sees him standing next to Malcolm, his fingers laced through the man's hair as he holds his head back. The man is still unconscious, completely unaware he has a butcher's knife to his throat.

"Brahms, please...please don't-" she whispers, her voice having gone again with the sudden flush stress. Tears roll down her face in thick torrents, she feels the snot dripping from her nose and the spit that has built up at the corners of her mouth.

"Please!" She whines out, a stressed whisper, "Greta." He says again in that voice, the one she is starting to hate so much, the deceiving child that hides his brutality.

Brahms taps Malcolms throat with the knife and then points it at her and then to his wound.

Her mind desperately tries to put it together but she is so tired, in such a state of perpetual shock and fear she can't seem to sort out his mysterious gestures.

"Brahms, please, use your words. Tell me, I will do anything you want, I will help you just don't…"

"Play nice, Greta." He says and then taps Malcolms throat again. The light finally goes off in her head and she nods as quickly as she can.

"Yes, yes I understand. I will, I will play with you-"

"And follow the rules?" He asks.

"Yes, yes every one."

"The punishment if you don't." He sings out snidely and once again taps the exposed throat of his hostage.

"I understand." She says sorely, more than clear on what he is implying.

Brahms releases Malcolm and the man's head sags forward again. He places the knife on the counter and then approaches her, tucking down behind her and undoing her binds.

When her hands are free she pulls them to her chest and rubs the soreness from her wrists only to jump a second later when the soft whisper of a full grown man caresses the shell of her ear, "I'll play nice if you will, pretty Greta."

She centers herself quickly, not wanting to upset him and nods, "I will."

He moves around the chair and starts to work on her feet, his eyes looking up at her the whole time to make sure she isn't going to try anything.

His hands come to her rib cage, slowly running down to the ropes around her waist and she sees the faintest shutter from him as his hands feel along her body. She swallows, tries to wait patiently and counts her blessings when he doesn't linger on feeling her up.

When she is free she takes hold of the doll on her lap and stands slowly, he copies her and once again they are next to each other, sizing the other up.

She holds the doll to her chest, finding comfort in having something between them and she cradles it closer, wishing for a brief moment the doll had truly been possessed.

Brahms notices her protective hold on it, his eyes then scanning up to her and he hums. Leaning forward a little, the nose of his mask sliding along her forehead as he inhales her scent deeply.

Greta knows she must keep him away from whatever fantasy he is submerging into, must not feed any excitement with her fear.

As her heart begins to pound again she tries to even out her breathing by inhaling slowly and she gently laces her fingers through his.

He jerks his head to look down at their joined hands and then back up at her, "Come on."

PAGEBREAK

They enter the bathroom and Greta tries to release his hand but he refuses and she looks at him with an authoritarian face, "Brahms, it's time to let go now. I need you to sit on the toilet."

He hesitates but compiles, "Good boy." she sets the doll gently on the small counter top and starts to look for anything to help.

Slowly she circles the room but sees nothing first aid related. She checks under the sink and then in the closet but finds only towels.

Finally she turns to her companion who has been watching her with fixed eyes the whole time. His hands are on his knees, fingers digging in and holding the fabric with a deathly grip.

He is holding himself from something, those eyes so intensely focused on her she swallows as she asks him a question, "Brahms, do you know where I can find a first-aid kit...medical supplies? Something to help me fix your wound?"

"My room." He whispers and she can hear the excitement in his voice and her heart sinks though determination sets in, the image of Malcolm bleeding out through a slice in his throat sobering away her fears.

She crosses to the doll and gently picks it up,"Alright, let's go."

This time Brahms takes her hand and a giggle escapes him as he leads her from the bathroom and down the hall.

He pulls her through the doorway into her room and then into the closet where he takes the secret passage through the walls.

Her heart once again pounds and she tries to remain calm as she willingly moves deeper into the dragon's lair.

She knows it is important to try and memorize the route, tries to think of where they are in relation to the rest of the house. She gets confused quickly, well aware she is still not familiar enough with the house to keep track.

They finally reach his room and he laughs excitedly as he pulls her in and swings around. His hold on her hand slides away and he rushes to a makeshift desk filled with all forms of arts, crafts and sewing supplies.

Upon her entry, this time, Greta takes a moment to truly look around. Why this area is bigger than all the others she isn't sure. But her eyes take in more of her surroundings this time.

The over abundance of creatures makes her wonder if Mr. Heelshire hadn't given dead animals to his son to stuff and collect. The walls are lined with shelves, each filled to the brim with books, bored games, puzzles newspapers, craft supplies and more. She even sees a section dedicated to movies and she remembers the tv on the wall behind her.

There is a sink, fridge, microwave and even a washer and dryer tucked under the stairs.

She approaches his position, keeping her eyes away from his bed, away from the life size replica he made of her. She doesn't want to think about it, what he may have used it for, she had a feeling it wasn't just for spooning.

From under the desk he pulls a large wicker basket and inside is an assorted mess of medical supplies.

"Is this...all for you?" she asks in surprise but his only response is to stare at her longingly before sliding the basket over to her.

"Alright, here, be a good boy and sit." He settles down onto a short stool and puts his hands in his lap.

She looks him over, realizes his clothes have to come off and steadies herself for the issues sure to come. She goes to place the doll on the desk but Brahms suddenly stands and takes it from her.

He rushes to his bed and places it on the lap of the Greta doll and then positions the rounded stubs of her hands as if it is holding the mini Brahms.

He looks at her then, tense and silent and she offers a nod and a forced smile, "Very nice. Now come here so I can help you."

His zombie like walk back to the stool creeps her out and as he sits down again Greta moves to his side, "Brahms, I need to remove your sweater and shirt...is that alright?"

He nods and so she begins, wrapping her fingers around the edge of his worn green cardigan and slowly pulling it down and off his shoulders.

Setting it aside, Greta pulls at his suspenders and leaves them to hang.

"Shirt next, arms up like a good boy." His arms rise up as if he is in a trance and she slowly pulls his beater up and over his head, being extremely careful not to touch or snag the mask.

His back is suddenly exposed to her and in the dim light of the room she sees twisted angry scars stare back at her.

A massive burn covers the back of his arm, neck and the right rear side of him. It travels all the way down to the edge of his pants and she guesses it goes beyond.

"Oh...my…" but she doesn't finish, her curiosity gets the best of her and she gently brings her fingers to the old wound. His back arches when she touches it and he gasps and moans, "Pretty Greta…" he says and the soothing way he says it tells her he is finding far more joy in a simple touch from her fingertips than any sane person would.

 _He has built this all up in his head over the last two months, watching me, hearing me….my dress….his fantasies are causing heightened reactions...delusions based on his dreamt up reality._

Still, she needs to know what kind of hold she has over him and gently, so as not to arouse him more, she moves her fingers over his scare and he shutters and groans but stays seated.

"You silly boy, how did you get so burned?" She says it with as much loving care as she can manage, tries to remain in her role of caregiver despite the fact she knows at any moment this person could turn and end her.

"Mummy was protecting me." He says softly, his childish voice having returned in full and this time it eases her because Brahms the child does not want her attentions the same way Brahms the adult does.

She feels herself relax and slowly, allowing her hand to stroke across his upper shoulders, she moves around him and comes to stand before him, bending over to look at the mask.

"What did mommy need to protect you from?" She asks though she knows this all leads back to the death of that little girl in the woods.

 _Emily Cribbs…..._

Brahms turns his mask away and before she can push him further he sniffs and says in a sickly way, "Ow." She hears the tears in his voice and sees his hand move to rest next to the injury she is supposed to be mending.

"You're right Brahms. I'm sorry, let me see it, there's a good boy now, sit up straight so I can look at it, there you go...much better."

She looks over the rest of his body, making note that the scaring does not wrap further than his side. His chest and torso are covered in a healthy slick of hair and it reminds her of an old black and white movie she used to watch with Sean Connery.

Now that he is bare from the waist up she takes a good look at him in hopes of catching any weaknesses. Unfortunately, aside from his mental state and the burn he was born healthy.

A long lean torso connects to a broad chest and shoulders. His arms are equally long and though they seem a little sinewy she has no doubt of the power behind them.

She continues to make her mental notes but glances up when she hears him huffing behind the mask and sees a stray tear fall out from underneath.

Her heart goes out to the boy trapped inside him, but she steals her resolve against it, her empathy is the enemy and she refuses to allow any form of stockholm syndrome to form.

Gently feeling around the wound, Greta is both relieved and disappointed it's clean through, no extra punctures or damage to the surrounding tissues.

She looks up at him and sighed, "Brahms, I can fix this. I can make it better, but to do that it is going to hurt. I need you to be a strong for me, can you be a brave boy and let me take care of this?"

"Yes, ma'am." And that is the most sincere she has heard the little boy sound, she feels this moment Brahms the boy is in full control and so she moves quickly, not wanting to lose this opportunity of relative safety.

She digs through the basket quickly, grabbing disinfectant, sterilized gauze pads, bandages and a wrap. She then looks for a needle and thread but sees only those spread out among the sewing supplies.

She thinks a moment, tries to decide the best course of actions and then opts to use the thickest thread she can find and sterilize a needle.

She gets everything ready and starts to work, rubbing the disinfectant onto her hands first before applying it to a sterile pad and beginning to clean Brahms's wound.

He whines and moans the whole way, and for awhile, she almost forgets he is a full grown man. So focused is she on the task at hand that the sounds of a young boy elicit automatic responses from her.

"It's okay, I know it burns sweetie. Hold still, just a bit longer we have to make sure it's clean."

He is sniffling by the time she finishes and she isn't sure how she is going to make it through stitching him up when suddenly a hand grabs her wrist painfully tight and she jerks her head to look up.

"More?"

She swallows nervously but gives him a level stare and says, "Just a little more. I have to close it, Brahms. You'll get sick if I don't."

He gives a shaky nod and takes a breath and she reaches up to cup the cheek of the mask, "Such a brave boy. Now, you need to sit up as straight as you can...this is going to hurt but I only need to make a couple stitches. Can you do this for me?'"

Another nod and a sniff and she smiles, "Okay."

She goes to work threading the needle and once that is done she runs the needle over a nearly burnt out candle on his desk, the wax having broken free and formed a puddle around it.

Greta glances up at him, sees him watching her and his eyes narrow slightly. She takes a steadying breath and then leans down.

Her bottom lip gets caught between her teeth as she pushes the needle through his skin, watches as his stomach tenses and the muscles flex.

She is so close to him at this point she can smell him, it is a mixture of the sweat, filth and blood that is smeared around his torso. Any of his own natural scent is hidden below the layers of caked on muck.

Her hand starts to shake because at the piercing of his skin he grunts and the sound is no longer that of a hurt child.

She realizes the crying has stopped, the sniffling gone and she is suddenly in the presence of the murderous wretch that terrifies her.

She continues to work though, knows that the stitches he needs won't take but a few seconds and she reaches out her spare hand to press the broken flesh together so she can connect the two sides and close the wound.

Her body stills when she feel a hand come to the back of her bent head. It doesn't do anything and she waits with the needle hoovering, ready to make the second pass through his ripped skin.

The heat from his palm radiates down through her hair and into her scalp but she doesn't say a word and after another few moments pause she continues her work.

He strokes his fingers through her hair, suddenly oblivious to the pain from her work. Her heart rate increases slowly but she tries to control her hands as they shake.

"Mummy said you were a nurse before you came...a children's nurse." His voice is soft, caught between boy and man again, a flash of her escape through the passageway comes to her mind.

" _Greta, come back...I'll be good...I promise…"_ that delicate voice that comes from being trapped between two worlds. Not a boy, not a man...more a creature crawling in the dark, confused and writhing in a mental agony over his place in the world.

"Yes." and she pushes the needle through his skin for the last time, preparing to tighten and tie off the stitches.

"You left it...came here….came to me instead." his voice is even softer now, reverence for the idea of Greta leaving her life to come here for him, feeding the fantasies he has concocted about her.

"I wanted to escape." She says honestly having no need to lie to him about it. That specific truth would not hinder her eventual escape from him, from this hell she is now in.

"Why?" He moans out, continues to stroke her hair and she grabs a pair of scissors to cut the thread.

His hand grabs her wrist instantly, the grip painful and she winces.

"I have to cut the thread, Brahms." She meets his eyes to see them staring at her, they are hard, narrow and hold a very well hidden cleverness.

"You can do it yourself if you like." She offers and he takes the scissors from her and cuts where she indicates before placing them slowly on the table.

He still has her wrist but does nothing by way of pulling her closer, though she feels him tense, notices the way he seems to be waiting for something.

"Kiss." He says softly and Greta's stomach clenches when she realizes what he wants.

 _I can kiss your ouch and make it better…._ STUPID! She muses but knows that she offered and he won't let her get out of it.

She trembles as she leans forward, her eyes darting from him to the stitches and she licks her lips nervously as her lips meet his flesh and she gives a gentle kiss to his wound.

His hand releases her wrist and comes to the back of her head, "Again." He whispers and she sees his head tilt up to gaze at the ceiling and he shutters out a breath.

She complies and does it again, his hand holding her there for a moment longer as his stomach tightens.

"Again, pretty Greta, again." His voice is strained, gravely as his presses her head towards the wound but she freezes and he instantly looks down, "T-that's enough kisses for now B-Brahms."

He stares at her, even in the dim light she can see his dilated eyes, near intoxicated from her gentle ministrations and he moans softly as his hand slides away only to grab her wrist again.

Greta loses her focus and looks away, letting Brahms win the battle of wills for now.

They remain in this position for several minutes, her fears boiling in her stomach but otherwise she just waits.

Another few minutes pass and a small yawn escapes her, the action creating a cascade effect in her body. Her focus blurs again and she sighs as a free hand rubs at her eyes.

She doesn't feel threatened right now, over the past hour he has done nothing but react in every way she predicted he would.

 _Children are predictable…_

Her own mother's voice echoes in her mind again and she grits her teeth as she thinks about it.

 _If you love them, be attentive and set boundaries...they will flourish. Spoil them, neglect them or abuse them...and they will rot. Do not let Cole rot your child...please...please Greta leave him before he takes this away from you too…_

Turning her head sharply to the side to escape the brutal memories she notices her body feels like rubber.

She is so exhausted, all her adrenaline and endorphins sliding away, her body is starting to ache now, the weariness bogging her down and a light haze fills her head.

Brahms's room is warmer than the rest of the house, dimly lit with candles and old bulbs that cast off amber light, the smell of dust and plaster filling the air around her.

Her body craves rest but she wishes to stay alert, though at this particular moment since Brahms is essentially holding her in this one spot and there is nothing but the silence around her to focus on, she feels her body start to shut down.

"No…" she whispers out as her eyes droop and her head starts to tilt to the side.

Upon almost passing into sleep she jerks her head up and shakes it, peering up at her would be attacker who is suddenly staring at her with narrow glee filled eyes.

He still has her wrist and she becomes very aware of how intently he is staring at her. She realizes, much to her dread, he has been waiting for her to fall asleep.

This strange sedentary and quiet moment they have shared the past half hour was purposeful, he was trying to pull her into a false sense of security, make her relax so she lets her guard down.

 _Clever, boy._ She muses though she feels resentment at the trick and she grows determined not to let him have his way.

They stare at each other for what feels like hours, Greta fighting her fatigue, fighting her bodies natural inclination to rest after so much trauma.

She jumps a little when Brahms gives a gentle pull to her wrist and she leans forward all too easily.

"No." She mumbles, shaking her head in denial. She raises her free hand and gives a sharp smack to her face but Brahms doesn't seem to like that idea and latches onto her hand, essentially trapping her.

Her heart rate starts to increase again and she tries to pull from his hold but at her sudden resistance he yanks her forward.

Jerking back Greta digs her heels into the ground but she slides forward again anyway as he pulls, "Stop it!" She hisses out but he only responds with another sharp tug and when she yanks harder against him he finally seems to grow frustrated and shifts forward abruptly.

She falls back as he lands with a hard thump on his knees in front of her, tightening his hold on her wrists as she yanks, shoves and pulls.

"Brahms!" She yells with as much authority as she can muster but at her ragged voice his eyes light up and he gives one last mighty pull and releases one of her wrist.

Her hand flies to his chest to push against him but he scoops her up and then stands. Now he holds her much the same as a baby would be held. Rocking her gently and giving off cooed sounds meant to sooth.

She tries to wiggled away but his grip is vice like. He sits on the stool again, her legs dangling across his lap and he continues to try and sooth her as if she was an infant.

She stops her struggles when she realizes he isn't doing anything but humming and rocking her. She breathes out her stress and lets out a little sob of indignation. Though her pride should be the last thing on her mind right now she feels increasingly embarrassed by his actions.

"Brahms, please, I'm so...so tired...I can't play these games right now…" and he stops his light rocking of her, stares a moment before suddenly he swings around on the stool and Greta is faced with his bed.

Her eyes lock onto that doll, the one of her that is life size, still holding onto the mini Brahms doll.

Her favorite date dress wrinkled and dirty, the necklace from her mother dangling about the neck.

"N-no! No!" And she redoubles her efforts to get away.

The adrenaline is back and she squirms and flails as her captore stands and starts to move towards the hideous bed tucked into the corner.

It looks filthy, the level of dread she feels at what is about to happen to her makes tears flow freely and she nearly shrieks when he uses his foot to gently shift the dolls aside.

He sits on the edge of the bed with her and she manages to free her arms and starts violently hitting his chest, neck shoulders and face.

"Greta-" and she hears the warning in his tone but can't stop.

"You're working yourself up." He says and she hears the way his voice slowly changes from a child to a sinister young man, his accent finally breaking through and the nature of his duality terrifies her.

She twists her torso and finally screams as she uses what strength she has left to try and make a mad dash for anywhere other than where he has her.

"GRETA!" He yells painfully loud over her in a tone that bars all argument.

She instantly stops struggling at the sound of it and stills as she lays there across his lap, his thighs pressing into her belly.

Her chest is heaving, her face a wash of tears, snot and drool and she coughs a little when the phlegm in her throat gets stuck.

"Easy, Greta." And she feels his hand come to her back and start to rub slow circles on it, much the same as she would do to any fussy child.

"Pretty pretty, Greta." she tries to roll away but finds her body is absolutely spent, her final struggle for freedom the very thing that has now condemned her.

Her face scrunches up and she starts to cry again, realizing the only remaining hope she has is to beg.

"P-please, don't hurt me...p-please don't hurt me, Brahms...please." She wheezes out the last part desperately and his hand stops moving.

They sit there like this another long while, tears slowly sliding from her eyes, small choking whines escaping and causing more spit to gather on the bedding before her.

She finally feels him move and he seems to be leaning away from her for just a second, she hears him grabbing at something which causes other unknown items to shift. When he leans up right again he ever so gently turns her over.

Readjusting their positions she is placed fully on the bed next to him and he lays down next to her, his large body pressed to the wall to give her space.

"Oh no, pretty Greta." Comes that shaky voice, half child, half man and all monster, "You are mine to love and care for. Mummy said so, didn't she? Yes, yes just relax." He reaches across her and she hears water splash, turns her head just enough to see a wash basin next to the bed and looks away in disgust at the thought of how old and dirty it probably is.

She feels a wet cool rag come to her face and shivers in protest. Brahms is cleaning her, washing away the muck and despite the fact she wants to struggle against it her heart slows.

"You must be so exhausted...pretty Greta, you will sleep now. It is time for bed...we will both sleep now."

"Brahms, please I don't want-"

"Sleep!" He growls out suddenly in a deep gravelly voice, his masked face pressing down close to her own and she lets out a small fearful yell and then continues to cry.

"Oh no, no, please...I'll be good, Greta. I'll be good...just relax...that's right...be a good girl and just sleep."

He continues to gently clean her face, twice reaching over to rinse the rag before resuming his ministrations. He shushes her softly, cooes comforting words and Greta realizes that in this moment the tables have turned.

Right now, she is his child, he is caring for her and trying to ease her into some form of comfortable acceptance of her situation.

"All children must sleep...it's past your bedtime pretty Greta. Silly Greta, played so hard you wore yourself out. Look at you, can't keep your eyes open."

He is right, her eyes continue to droop, her body starting to feel weightless. She tries to push at his hand but he slides his fingers between hers, the rag separating their palms and he presses her arm back to rest next to her head.

"No no, no fighting it. Pretty Greta, my Greta. All mine, to love and care for." He sings out and he excitedly adjusts himself to be closer, leaning over her, nearly about to cover her body with his.

"To love….and care for….forever." his hand abandons the rag, her fingers squeeze it as he runs his palm down her arm to her side where he takes a firm hold.

She feels the stress become too much and her vision blurs as his mask leans closer, the cool porcelain just barely brushing her lips and she gasps, "Oh, no….don't be scared...I promise...I will be here when you wake up. It's time for the good night kiss, now lay still, close your eyes and go right to sleep. "

As his mask descends she barely feels the icy press of his lips to her own and seconds later she blacks out.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: WARNINGS: Talk of assault, blood, swearing, sexually charged situations.**

 **Chapter 2**

 **I pray the Lord my Soul to Keep**

Greta wakes up slowly, feeling warm and content. The bed she lays in is soft, though the covers are a little scratchy. She inhales deeply through her nose and stretches before settling down again on her belly. Her arms slide up under the pillow and she hums out happily.

Sleep finds her again shortly after but doesn't hold her for long. She is pulled from it again by a hand slowly gliding up the small of her back, fingers grazing up either side of her spin.

Her brain automatically hums with delight at the gentle message. Still not completely conscious or aware she accepts the feather light touches, an image of Malcolm coming to her mind and she gives a small soft giggle.

"Being naughty this morning." She groans out and she rolls onto her side to press her back into the burning heat of the body behind her. The hand skimming around her side to apply gentle strokes to her belly.

She feels Malcolm's morning wood press into her backside and another small humour filled chuckle escapes, "You have a surprise for me, such a naughty boy."

"I am a naughty boy." Comes a ghostly whisper next to her ear and Greta's eyes jerk open.

"BRAHMS!" she gasps out in a high octave shock and arms wrap around her suddenly as reality sinks in and the horrors of the night before crash around her violently like a storm at sea.

"No!" And she tries to roll out of the tiny bed but he is holding her so tight she feels her ribs give a twinge of protest.

"Greta, Greta I am naughty, I'm your naughty boy." comes a strangled moan from his throat.

The spike of utter fear, the crippling adrenaline feeds the dread and instantly her struggle resumes. Instincts telling her to get the hell away as fast as she can.

His mask presses to the side of her face and a hand skims up her body, fingers latching around a breast and she yells at the pain of it.

If he knows he is hurting her he doesn't let on and she can hear him making kissing sounds as the cold lips of his mask pepper her throat.

"GretaGretaGretaGretaGretaGrrrrreeeta." and she feels his hips pressing against her ass, he gives a jerk and to her utter horror his body shutters and she feels him make a mess in his pants.

She instantly stills, her mouth hanging open and eyes bulging as tiny puffs of air escape her and she realizes what just happened.

"Good girl, my good girl." And the disgust of it all changes her fear into something much more dangerous.

She gets angry, the raw feelings of violation spread through her and finally she acts.

"FUCK YOU!" and she swings an elbow back, aiming for his stitches. She connects with them successfully and hears him let out a shriek.

She scrambles from the bed, her energy and resolve set in stone that she literally isn't going to take such defilement laying down.

Running to the door she ignores his calls for her which sound more scared than angry and her feet keep moving. She looks behind her to find the wall space empty, she faces forward again only to come to a split.

She stops and glances down either way, "Malcolm, Malcolm...which way to the kitchen." She is about to go left when a sound stops her.

"Greta, Greta please...pleeease help….Greta!" she looks back down the way she came from and her brow furrowed in confusion.

"Greta! Greta! Please help!" It's Brahms, his voice is all child and he sounds terrified. Knowing she should keep running she shakes her head at the stupidity of it but something keeps her standing there.

"Greta, Please!" His begging echoes down after her and despite the fact she knows she should run, something makes her turn around and she begins a very slow and tentative walk back.

When she reaches the door to his room Greta pokes her head in and finds Brahms sitting on the edge of his bed. Still shirtless, filthy and looking utterly lost.

His pants are splayed open though she can't see his privates. His body is shaking as he raises a hand and spreads his fingers.

A sticky white substance clings between his digits and he sobs again as he looks up at her, "Greta, please?" Her mouth hangs open as she watches him reach his other hand down his pants and then removes it with more sticky goop hanging.

His breathing increases, eyes going wide behind the mask. "G-Greta!" He nearly screams and she instantly goes into caregiver mode.

"Hey! Hey, it's alright. Calm down Brahms." And she crosses to him without thinking. Grabs the rag that is still on the bed from the night before and rinses it in the basin quickly.

Not hesitating to kneel before him she starts to clean his hands and tries her best to comfort him. He is shaking sporadically, hands trembling and he lets out another sob between his terrified pants.

Quickly she reaches up and cups the cheek of his mask, "Brahms...Brahms look at me." His eyes dart up to hers, wide and terrified but he maintains eye contact, "Breath, there you go, breath with me. In...out...slow down and ...just like that...breath...okay...Brahms...you don't have to be scared….this...this is normal for someone your age… it is a perfectly normal and healthy response...just calm down...there's a good boy. Breath in, breath out...there you go...good boy."

She finishes cleaning his hands and then looks up at him with curiosity, "Brahms? Is that...is that the first time you've ever….that has ever happened?"

He just stares at her, his breathing slowly returning to normal and her eyes fall away from him to the doll.

Slowly she stands and crosses to it. He had nudged it to the end of the bed last night but it must have been kicked while they slept because it lays discarded on the floor, the mini Brahms splayed across it also seemingly forgotten.

She looks the doll over, then very tentatively grabs the bottom of the coral dress and raises it to gaze underneath.

There is no indication of any masterbatory emissions. In fact, aside from some dirt and drool marks near the left shoulder the dress is no worse for wear.

She looks back at the man behind her who is currently holding his pants open and looking down at the remaining mess. He gives a whimper and cocks his head to the side, his show of confusion that is becoming a signature look.

"Shit." She hisses out as a hand comes to her forehead and the conflict inside of her starts to erupt in earnest.

 _He is so dangerous, but he is completely oblivious. He is an admitted murderer, killed Cole...threatened to kill Malcolm...twice in fact. He has moments of complete clarity as the adult he is...shows the ability to reason...manipulate….hurt people to get what he wants. He is self aware to some degree. But the way he acts….the way he responds to situations he has never experienced before. It is always in fear. When he is afraid young Brahms takes over or he falls back to what he knows will get him help. An angry adult when he is hurt or in danger, a scared crying child when he is afraid or confusion._

That thought scares her more than she thought it would, the idea that he is completely aware and only uses the guise of a confused and scared young boy to bring people closer, to get his way. That would make him a master manipulator.

Just look how she had responded. She had a clean break from him, probably could have gotten to Malcolm and made a decent attempt at escape.

But Brahms had not pursued her, he had expended no energy in chasing her and had gotten her to come back to him of her own free will because her draw to a scared and upset child was exceedingly strong.

Not just as a woman, but as a human being. The compassion a child can elicit from a total stranger is dangerous depending on the situation. She knows of all kinds of stories where a stranger had gave up their life to save a child. Random acts of kindness, heroics….selfless actions….none had ever had to contend with the likes of Brahms.

Her eyes look to him and she finds him taking the rag in a shaky hand and reaching it down his pants to wipe at the remaining mess.

The noise he gives at such an apparently daunting task sounds so real, his body reacting in a way that indicates complete discomfort.

Greta can't honestly tell if it is an act or a truly confused and fearful response. Doubt rings in her mind but her heart goes out to him though she curses herself for it.

Twenty years, how did his parents survive twenty years of this...this brutal mind game.

"Greta?" She is pulled from her thoughts by his child's call and she looks at him, calm settling over her and her face remaining neutral as she responds, "Yes, Brahms?"

"It's time for breakfast." He points a hand to the desk and she looks to see a familiar clipboard with a sheet of paper.

The rules….

Slowly she crosses to it and picks it up. The thing wasn't here last night...in fact the last place she remembers seeing it was in Brahms's bedroom.

At some point in the night he had left her to get it. Worry fills her at the thought of what else he may have done while she lay unconscious.

She looks up at him and sets the board back on the desk, "Greta?" He asks in confusion.

"What else?" She asks fearfully.

He says nothing in response.

"What else did you do while I was asleep?" And her fear makes her turn and she exits the room swiftly. Brahm's calls after her one more time but this time she keeps going. Walking, resisting the urge to run, and makes her way to the first exit she finds.

She emerges in her bedroom closet, walks out into the hall and starts to look around. At first she sees nothing out of the ordinary but when she passes the pool room she stops cold.

Cole's body is gone, all signs of the previous nights scuffle gone. She enters the room and swings around. Not a single sign, even the mirror which had been busted open via a brick and swift swing of his spear had been replaced with a new one. It was an oval now, bigger but less intrusive with a silver frame.

She turns again to the spot where Cole had been and realizes there are no stains. The blood is all gone, and her heart jumps into her throat.

She runs to the adjoining room and looks at the wall that Brahms had shoved the spear through. It was perfectly normal. She walks up to it with trepidation and raises a hand, a single finger touching the spot and she realizes the paint is still wet.

"Oh my go-" but she can't fathom how he had done it in such a short amount of time. She couldn't have slept that long could she have?

 _Malcolm._

She jumps at the thought and turns to head for the kitchen. She reaches it and to her immense relief sees him in the same spot. He raises his head when she enters and his eyes shine with relief.

"Oh my god, Greta!" He says and he breathes deeply as he visibly relaxes at the sight of her.

"Malcolm...how long have I been gone?" She asks as she crosses to him and kneels at his feet.

He swallows and looks at her through hazy eyes, "Water, please, Greta."

"Yes! Yes of course!" She doesn't hesitate to stand and retrieve him a glass. She helps him to drink it and after, in between pants, he says, "At least twenty four hours I think...but...I don't know how long I was out...I woke up just as the sun came out...went all day without seeing anyone and then through the night...you're the first...Brahms...is he-"

"No...still alive...I can't do anything about him until I figure out how to get us out of here."

"Try to get my hands undone." He says quickly and Greta complies even though she knows he is in no condition to take on Brahms.

She rounds the chair and stops dead when she sees shackles, actual metal shackles adorn his wrists and are laced through the metal bars on the back of the chair.

She grabs them and yanks but they are solid iron and she angrily releases them and curses, "Shit."

"What? What is it?"

"I need a key." She hisses as she rounds him to look at his ankles and realizes they are in the same state.

"Jesus, where did he even get those." she says breathlessly.

"You need to go and get help… you need to go...just go and don't come back until you have the police."

Greta looks at him a moment and then takes a breath, "Malcolm, no."

"Do it!" he yells a little too loud and she feels her patience break, "No! Listen to me, if I leave he will kill you. I can't leave you to him. Not if I can find a way to get us both out of here alive."

"Neither of us will get out of here alive if you don't bloody go!"

"I won't!" she yells back.

Malcolm falls into silence at her stubborn look and he seemingly makes a decision to let it go for now, "Alright, fine. Where is he now?"

"I left him in his room...the one in the walls. He will be here any moment….I….I have to make breakfast." and Greta turns to the fridge and enters into a strange quasi form of autopilot. Getting things together to make breakfast and as she does Malcolm resumes talking.

"I heard pounding last night...like a hammer...nails...I don't know...I thought he was sealing you in a wall or something." He chuckled desperately, "I yelled out but no one came."

Greta licks her lips, "He was fixing the walls, removed all the evidence...God Malcolm, it's like last night never happened."

"It did, I have the concussion to prove it. What happened when you left the kitchen?"

Greta bites her bottom lip, closes her eyes as she remembers feeling Brahms press against her and jerk until he came. She shakes her head at the feeling of disgust it settles in her belly and looks back to her friend.

"I took care of his wound and then he...he...took me to bed." Malcolm stills at this and glances up at her from under his brow a rather dark look of anger and jealousy rising to the surface.

"He didn't...do anything...but...I blacked out...I didn't realize I was under so long. A full day and night?" Malcolm nods and she looks to the window to see the early morning light streaming in.

"High levels of stress over long periods can cause a blackout...it's a way for the brain to protect itself from trauma. But...twenty four hours….I just…."

"Could he have drugged you?" Malcolm offers and Greta realizes that even though she had not seen any evidence of it there was a very distinct possibility he could have.

She drops her hand from her face and glances the knife on the counter, realizes that she could take it and try to attack him again.

She crosses to it and picks it up, glances to Malcolm who seems to be thinking the same thing.

"We could try...I could try….but if I can't….he _will_ kill you. I don't think I should act until I am completely certain I can get him."

"You can still run." Malcolm offers.

"I'm done running." and she drops the knife back into the drawer and slams it shut, "We have to wait, it's the only viable option. Wait until his guard is down, follow the rules...and when he isn't ready for it….end it."

Malcolm takes a moment to digest this, and then slowly nods as he swallows and realizes she is right. Even if Greta could get his cuffs off the instant they went for the door Brahms would be on them. He might even be listening now, thus why he had yet to make an appearance.

"There _is_ something….something I need to tell you."

Malcolm seems to ready himself, unsure what could be so important she abandons their communication about escaping, "God, Malcolm...Malcolm I've been watching him...studying him… I don't know for sure but I think… I think there is more going on here than meets the eye."

"Obviously." He says and Greta grabs the water, raising the glass for him to take another drink, "No, I mean with Brahms. He isn't just a psychopath. I can't be sure but I honestly believe there are two people in there. The boy…. Innocent, scared, shy and fearful of everything….and...the man...the monster. I honestly believe the boy...I don't think he would hurt anyone…"

"Greta...Greta no...that boy...the one you are talking about...killed an eight year old girl. I told you they found her in the woods, head bashed up and all. He was just a child then too...his father openly told me Brahm's wasn't ever a normal child-"

"That's what I mean...what if...what if the monster has been there all along...what if the boy is just buried deeper...can only come out when he is...when Brahms is scared. What if...what if I can reach him?"

Malcolm stares at her for a good moment, his eyes searching hers for something of which she knows not. He goes to speak but is halted when the faint call of a child is heard, "Greta?"

"Oh my god, keep your head down. Do not say a word. I'll start breakfast...do not acknowledge us in anyway...no matter what he may do. You have to keep from attracting his attention."

Malcolm nods and Greta quickly stands and returns to the stove, slides a pan to the coils and turns them on. Using a knife she cuts a pat of butter from the butter tray and adds it to the pan.

She takes deep breaths to steady herself and goes about making breakfast.

"Greta?" The voice is near now and she looks over her shoulder to see Brahms in the doorway, still shirtless, his pants undone and hanging low. Caked in blood and dirt with his stitches burning red from her earlier blow, he is a rather disturbing sight to behold.

"Good morning Brahms. You look quite the mess young man. Come here, I am just about to make breakfast." She moves to him and swallows as she tries to keep a smile on her face.

"My god." She hears Malcolm whisper out in shock at the state if him but Brahms seems unaware.

"Look at you, all undone. Here, let me help." She reaches shaky hands to his pants and slowly zips and buttons him up. Taking that final step into her personal space his head comes down to smell her hair and his hands come to gently rest on her upper arms.

Slowly, so as not to upset or offend him, she gently pulls away from him and keeps talking, "I see you need a bath. We will take care of it after breakfast. Now, let's be a good boy and have a seat."

He complies instantly, his zombie walk slow and steady as he sits down silently at the table.

She turns back to the food and for several minutes goes about making three large omelets.

Having to go to the fridge for other items she has yet to pull, she glances at Malcolm each time but thankfully the man does well keeping his head down.

She can tell he is listening to everything, she can feel the cranks in his head turning as he tries to think up ways out of this mess. She catches him only once glancing up to view the crazy masked man at the table before jerking his head back down.

Greta also keeps an eye on Brahms who for the most part has been staring unblinkingly at the tabletop. It isn't until she sets the meal down that Brahms's attention shifts and he looks at the three plates.

"It's incase you are still hungry. A growing boy needs food and you had a very eventful night last night."

She is lying of course, hopes she can slip it to Malcolm at some point during the course of the day but isn't sure how or when that will be.

She goes to sit and is caught off guard when Brahms stands abruptly and grabs the third plate. He crosses to Malcolm and crouches down before him.

"Malcolm, are you hungry?" And it is that child's voice that asks so innocently.

Malcolm goes to look at Greta but stops himself and looks back to Brahms, he clears his throat and says as kindly as he can, "Yes, thank you Brahms."

"You're my friend. You come every Wednesday. You say hello to me. You're nice to mummy and daddy...bring them things...I like you." and Brahms takes up a piece of omelette with his dirty fingers and brings it to Malcolms mouth.

Greta can see his repulsion at the idea of being fed by such dirty fingers but opens his mouth slowly and allows Brahms to place the omelette on his tongue.

"Chew and swallow." Brahms says.

Malcolm complies and over the next few minutes Brahms feeds him slowly. Malcolm looking at him the entire time, Greta taking up her fork with every intention to use it if Brahms tries anything to harm the man.

When the plate is empty Brahms stands and looks down at him, "Full?"

"Yes, thank you Brahms."

"Good. Greta? You've not eaten...are you sick?"

Greta, who has been frozen and ready to pounce the whole time, comes out of her shock and looks at him, "Oh, no! I was just waiting for you Bramsy. So nice of you to help Malcolm."

"Malcolm is my _friend_." And he turns his masked face to look over at him as he says it, a chilling tone hidden beneath the surface and Malcolm nods, quite able to read between the lines. Greta doesn't miss it either but she can't tell who is now talking.

Brahms continues to stare at him and the message is made clear, whomever is talking at this moment, they are only saying one thing.

 _Behave, follow the rules….and you get to survive._

"Come and sit down Brahms. It's time to eat." Greta says softly, trying to break the man's focus on Malcolm. Slowly, almost as if he is trying to resist some unknown urge Brahms finally looks away and approaches the table again.

Greta feels the tension in the room and the sudden breath of air both her and Malcolm take as he gives up on his thoughts, whatever they may have been. She watches intently when Brahms take the plate and fork and swings away from them. He resides at the perfect angle so no one can see the face underneath and to raise his mask just enough to slip food to his mouth. He eats it quickly, humming with delight as he does.

Greta hasn't been saving food in the freezer and she tries to think of how long he has gone without his diet of reheated food.

Judging by his pace it has at least been a few days, she makes a mental note to check the freezer, remembering how much food had been saved up when she first arrived.

Greta is almost done with her breakfast as she muses on the idea that Brahms hasn't killed Malcolm. He has come close twice, but he has yet to cross that line.

Part of her, the part of her that wants to find hope in escape, hope that she can reach the boy underneath if he truly does exist separately from the other, wants to believe Brahms won't hurt Malcolm.

But she isn't stupid or diluted enough to think either she or Malcom will ever be safe. Not as long as Brahms continues to be so unstable. The question she has to ask herself is if risking her and Malcolm's life is worth trying to save the soul of a boy who may not even exist.

PAGEBREAK

When they enter the bathroom Brahms looks at her and she smiles, "We have to change the rules a little today Brahms. You need a bath and some clean clothes. Don't you want to be clean?"

He nods and she rubs a hand up his arm, "Good boy. Wait here."

She crosses to the tub and starts the water, making sure it isn't too hot before she turns back but jumps when she comes to find him right behind her, his height requires him to crank his head down at her and she brings a hand to her chest as she tries to slow her heart.

"Alright. I will be right outside, put your pants in the basket and I all wash them later after lunch."

She turns to leave but is once again stopped by a harsh grip on her wrist.

"Greta, help." He says.

"Brahms, no, you are a big boy, you can bath yourself. I promise you I'm not going anywhere."

She feels his hand tighten on her wrist and she sucks in a breath, "Brahms, you don't need my help-"

"My back...mummy does my back."

She stares at him a moment and then thinks about the scars she saw the night before, sighs and nods, "Alright, Brahms. I will help you, but you need to let me go. You're hurting me."

His hand loosens and she pulls her wrist away to her chest where she rubs it, "thank you."

She swallows and comes over to him, reaching again for his pants and undoing them. Brahms stays quiet and simply watches her. She notices he has no underware and averts her eyes as she pulls down his pants, letting them drop the rest of the way and then she tells him to step out.

She keeps her eyes above his waist line, makes constant eye contact to not give him any opportunity to think something else might happen. Taking his hand she leads him to the tub and he steps in.

He sinks down into the water and then sits there quietly. She stands there, watches him and realizes he isn't making a move to bath himself.

"Brahms, sweetie, you need to-" but she trails off when he slowly looks up at her and his eyes narrow.

"Alright." She grabs a rag and a bar of soap and starts the arduous process of bathing a fully grown man, continuing to keep her eyes away from his genitalia and trying to imagine him as nothing but a young child.

 _His mother bathed him….yet….he is apparently self sufficient enough to have a fridge in his room. He….well….there wasn't a sign of a stove….she refrigerated food that he would take at night and store down below...he eats it cold or uses the microwave...so he can't or won't cook. But bathing...she bathed him? There wasn't a bathroom down there I saw….there was a sink...how exactly did their relationship work...he has got to be messing with me. This has to be part of his manipulations….surely...just finish the job and move on…._

Greta takes the rag and starts at his neck. She works her way down and noticed skin flaking off his back, sees a little bit of yellow puss coming from one of the deep areas where the skin has folded over. She sees how angry the burns look from the heat of the water and another thought occurs to her.

"Brahms...do your scars ever leak? Do they ever feel sore or hurt?"

The man looks away from her and nods almost imperceptibly.

 _Recurrent infections, in twenty years it never properly healed….he grew quickly...skin couldn't stretch fast enough to keep up…. The conditions of his room….being in the walls constantly exposed to dirt, dust and who knows what else._

 _They had to hide him….but he couldn't reach it himself to clean….not enough at least to keep it from getting infected. His mother helped him, tended to his burns...never stopped helping because the infections kept coming back. Couldn't get medicine for fear of questions….they had just had a house fire….they were fine...so why would they need burn medicine?_

 _What a dedicated woman….or she was terrified of what would happen if she didn't help._

Greta shakes her head clear of this, unable to imagine a woman like Mrs. Heelshire kneeling next to a tub and scrubbing her adult son, no matter how dedicated she was to him.

"Lean back, there's a good boy." the stitches had needed to stay dry but she was not willing enough to give him a sponge bath. She would restitch them if need be.

As he leans back the water swirls around him and she notices how dirty it is becoming. She rinses and soaps the rag again, this time starting at his throat.

As she slowly rubs the rag along his collar bone she glances to his face and sees his eyes through the holes of the mask, they are looking at her, near gazing in a hypnotic revary. She tries to ignore it but she sees in those eyes an emotion she doesn't want to think about, it lays somewhere between satisfaction and contentment.

The only good thing she gets out of it is that he is starting to relax around her again, giving her small itty bitty inches of room to maneuver and plan.

If she can get him to trust her completely...if she can make it through a week….maybe two….Malcolm will start to be missed...people will come looking...this could all end without bloodshed and all she has to do is cater to a mentally unstable man child.

 _Just follow the rules Greta, play the game he wants you to play and you could both survive this...no one has to die…._

A hand latches onto her wrist and slowly pulls it down towards his belly where she starts to wipe away the majority of filth.

"Lower." She hears him whisper and she freezes as she glances at him. His eyes were shut before she had looked but they crack open minutely when she doesn't comply.

"Lower, please, Greta." He starts to whine and reluctantly she drags her hand down with the rag to scrub at his lower abdomen.

He sighs out and his eyes close again, Greta finishes cleaning that area and then quickly skips over his groin to wash down his legs. There is blood caked on his inner thigh, smeared around by the leg of his pants that she must work particularly hard to get rid of.

She makes it to his feet in record time and then leans up, ringing out the rag for the final time before she sets it aside.

"You're all done Brahms." she says nervously and his eyes crack open again, she looks into them and he giggles, "For now." he says softly. A shiver runs up her spine and suddenly a hand jerks out to her and grabs her arm.

Greta yells and gasps as he yanks her into the soiled bathwater with him. A little boy laugh filters through the air as she struggles but it takes just seconds to subdue her and she is soon resting along the length if him. She is breathing heavy, eyes wide as her heart feels like it might give out.

Brahms holds her to his chest and breaths deeply as he lays his head back.

Greta tries to keep from throwing up, tries to tell herself she isn't in the filthy bloody bathwater of a psychopath. She thinks of all the ways she could talk her way out of sitting here, feeling his body pressed to her back.

"You're an angel." And she stills, falls silent completely as she hears him speak softly in a normal voice, it's range still sounds like that of a young man, higher but masculine and he hums.

His accent is light, like his parents and he speaks again, much to her shock, "You pray at night to bless those you love. But no one really means it...no one actually loves anyone...it's all expectations. My parents were expected to love and care for their only child….I was expected to love them in return...I suppose I did….but you...the expectations of you….so young and soft...so pliant and gentle and fresh….so fresh...I saw you and knew...the instant you took your shoes off that you were my new nanny...my caregiver...my everything...Greta...my beautiful Greta...to love and care for….till death do us part."

As he talks her panic grows and when he seemingly finishes she lets out a terrified whine, "Oh no, shh shh shh, now now Greta. I won't hurt you...not ever...pretty Greta." his hand slides around her waist under the water and she squirms a little, "No, Brahms, no wait...please-"

"It's okay Greta, mummy and daddy are gone...we can do whatever we want." and when she hears the voice of a little boy say such a thing she realizes the man beneath her is far more complicated than just having a bad case of split personalities.

"But I don't _want_ to." she says between clenched teeth and then she jerks her hands out of the filthy water and grips the edges of the tub.

Giving a mighty pull she takes him by surprise and lurches out of the bath and falls forward. The drop onto the hard floor jars her body but she scrambles up anyway, sliding haphazardly for the door.

She is almost there and reaches her hand out to lock onto the carpet in the hall when the door suddenly slams shut and she screams in anguish as her hand is crushed between the frame and door.

She yanks her hand back and pulls it to her chest, seeing the blood gush out from where her skin has been broken.

"Naughty, Greta. Very naughty." She tries to back peddle, sliding across the tile floor, looking for anything to protect herself as he converges on her, all six foot three inches of naked angry man child.

She begins to panic, presses up into the corner wall of the bathroom and tries to think of anything she could do or say to stop his rage.

He drops to the ground before her, grabs her ankle and pulls her across the floor to him. Both her hands fly out to try and halt her progress, blood smearing as she goes.

He spins her around and she thrashes to the point her foot hits the rim of the toilet and she yells from the shock of it. She feels him pulling her into his lap, feels his erect penis press along her back as he wraps his arms around her and suddenly she spouts out the first thing that comes to her mind.

"Brahms! The bath is over! It's time for music appreciation!" the man freezes just as his hand is about to grab at her shirt.

They sit there on the bathroom floor, both panting and she reaches up a hand to steady herself and hooks it onto his arm.

"Brahms, I think it's time….we….lay down some new ground rules." she pants.

She hears him give a blast of frustrated noise and a breath of air escapes her as she tries to hide her triumph, after all, nobody breaks the rules.

PAGEBREAK

Greta thinks that the rules have been made by Brahms, perhaps it was his mother but she just has a gut intuition that he made this short list of rules so that he had better control of his parents. After all, they were able to leave the house at will, there was a very good possibility that this whole situation had started in small chunks just at Mr. Heelshire had implied.

Greta had thought he was referring to his wife's spiral into denial over the death of her son, but now she knew better. The situation with Brahms existing as he had for the last twenty years was something that had gotten stranger and more complex over time.

The opera music is playing softly in the background, as soon as she had turned it on Brahms sank into a chair by the window and was still.

He had been staring out the same window now for the past forty-five minutes, frozen like a statue, eyes unblinking.

Greta has taken this time to regroup. She has wrapped her injured hand, showered and changed clothes and done a quick clean up of the bathroom. She found some clean clothes for Brahms in his room while she had been using the medical basket.

It was all a whirlwind of unstable insanity and she still didn't know if she was going to be able to decipher this brutal and deadly man before her until it was too late.

She has the clipboard in her lap and holds a pen to her lips as she sits in the nearby window seat, counting her blessings that it seems when the music plays Brahms goes off into a world of his own. Has no clue he was left alone for such a long time.

Greta had not even thought of escape or trying to speak to Malcolm as she assumed Brahms could be right around every corner. Having returned to the room to find him in the exact same spot and seemingly unaware of her departure, she made a mental note that music time was a time she might be able to slip away and try to escape.

After a moment she starts to write, thinking of all the things she should try to modify in this new list of rules. If she can figure out a way to make them work to her advantage she will gain more control and Brahms will be more readily willing to listen to her.

Ten minutes later the music comes to a stop and she glances up to see Brahms staring at her expectantly.

 _Remain calm, you are in charge, his parents may have lived in terror for twenty years but they survived him. Be it a need for their help or because somewhere deep down he has an attachment to them it doesn't matter. The rules work, it is all he knows, changing them will be dangerous but you may have to play a little game of manipulation yourself, just do anything you have to to make him comply._

"Brahms, will you please come here?" she asks, making her voice smooth and gentle as she sits up and pats the spot next to her.

Slowly he rises, approaches her cautiously and she almost feels a small pang of guilt, he is ready for her to try and hurt him. Once again she wonders if this is how Cole saw her from day to day, shifty and nervous at the idea of coming close.

 _Squash it Greta, he is not some abused shut in, he is a murderer, no matter how messed up his life has been you cannot feel guilty or regret your actions. He WILL kill you if you give him a reason to._

"That's it, come here, sit next to me." and she watches him as he sits slowly, his eyes watching her curiously and she holds up the clipboard.

"Now, since your mummy and daddy are gone, I thought it might be nice to try and modify the rules so they work better for you and me. Take a look." he looks down at the clipboard quickly and she can tell his eyes are scanning over them.

"I know change is scary, but, change can also be good….it would mean a lot to me if you would be willing to give this new list a try. See, I have rules to follow too. I promise it will make things a lot easier for both of us, huh? What do you think?" he keeps staring at the new rules she has written and she glances down to reread her work.

 _No guests_

 _Never Leave Brahms alone when possible_

 _Fresh meals every day_

 _Always shave Brahms face_

 _Allow Greta alone time_

 _Read a bedtime story_

 _Play music loud_

 _Clean the traps_

 _Only malcolm brings deliveries_

 _Brahms is never to leave, accept for walks_

 _Feed and water Malcolm_

 _Cuddles goodnight_

She thought he might reject them, his body had tensed after several seconds of rereading what she had written. Instead, Greta was surprised when he took a finger and pointed to number two and cocked his head.

"There is only one of me Brahms, I need to be able to leave you on your own long enough to do things….for example...you don't want to come with me to clean the traps do you?"

He shook his head quickly and then pointed to number three.

"You aren't going to be hiding in the walls anymore, I want to interact with _you_ Brahms. Not a doll. Which means you can have fresh cooked meals every day."

 _Much easier for someone to see you and for me to keep an eye on you. No more not knowing if you are watching me._

His finger drops to number four and she swallows knowing this could upset him, he maybe in so much denial he isn't even aware of the facial hair but it was the only way she could think of to initiate some form of bonding between them that wasn't sexual. She could do it every other day and perhaps he would eventually remove the mask all together, making him much easier to read.

"Brahms...are you….do you realize you have a beard? Young men...boys….don't normally have those...I want to show you how to shave it, get rid of it. Your daddy should have shown you a long time ago….I can do it for you...every other day….you don't have to take your mask off…" she thinks she will have to persuade him but his finger is already dropping to the next number in question.

"Five, yes, I know that will bother you but...Brahms...when your mummy needed a break from taking care of you your daddy could take over. I don't have any help taking care of you, sweetie. I will need some time to myself to….rest...take a nap….maybe listen to my own music...do you understand?"

Without protest his finger dropped to ten and she felt like he was growing excited but she couldn't tell if it was that or nerves. She wished she knew, because while both could be dangerous one was more so than the other.

"Yes, I want to….take you outside...only for short amounts of time...Brahms...I need time outside." his finger jumps up to number eight and he cocks his head to the side.

"I know, but being outside simply for the joy of being outside is much different than cleaning out traps with dead animals in them. We can take walks in the gardens….enjoy the sun...I promise I will keep you away from any animals...and we won't go far-"

His finger instantly drops to eleven and she nods, "Yes, Brahms. While he is here we have to take care of him. If we don't he won't survive. You know this." she says gently, tilting her face up to catch his eye, "It is important he doesn't die, Brahms. We have to be good hosts. Is that okay, can you do that for me? Allow me a few minutes a day to take care of our friend, Malcolm?"

He looks at her and than his finger jumps to number one, "I know, but we don't have a choice. Unless you want to let him go?" Brahms seems truly caught between his desire to follow the rules and not let Malcolm go.

Eventually he gives one small nod and Greta moves on, "Thank you." she says with a small smile, though it fades when his finger slowly slides down to the final new rule, one she thought was clever at the time but seeing the way his eyes haze over she isn't so sure.

"Yes, Brahms. I thought...instead of a good night kiss….I will hold you until you fall asleep...but...Brahms….that's all….just holding...no kissing...nothing inappropriate." her mind had thought at the time that he seemed to get the most excited when he grew closer and could look into her eyes. Kisses seemed to excite him to the point of being unable to control himself, his hands seemingly wanting to touch her all the time.

If she was holding him from behind, their faces would not meet...he could not see the fear or anxiety in her eyes and the intimacy wouldn't be as extreme. Whether he was a child trapped in the body of a man or a man who was trapped under the guise of a child, his mind was over stimulated everytime he went to receive a kiss of any kind from her. This was her rather sad attempt to remove kisses all together, she only hoped she hadn't just made a mistake.

His hand slides away and comes to hang at his side as his eyes seem to stare at the word cuddle like it is a golden treasure. He glances to her and then back at the word and then he sighs as he takes the clipboard from her and grabs the pen from her hand.

He seems to scribble quickly and then write something next to a rule, handing it back to her shortly after. She looks at his sloppy handwriting and frowns.

8\. _Brahms is never to leave, accept for walks, at night with Greta._

She muses on the adjustment and can't help realize how clever he can be, for walks at night make it much harder to see who might be around or for someone else to see them. He is much smarter than she had hoped. The walks had been a way for someone else to possibly spy them, surely a man in a mask would alert anyone to something fishy.

Greta knew she had to cave on this, given that trying to make him walk during the day might cause him to reject the rest of her rules all together.

 _Give him something to make him feel like he has control, allow it for now, you might still be able to get him out during the day in a few weeks._

She hates the fact that she is thinking in terms of weeks, but right now, she and Malcolm are essentially under house arrest. Long term planning is all she can do until she either finds the key to Malcolm's cuffs, kills Brahms or finds a way to signal for rescue.

Her stomach turns at the thought of having to kill the man next to her, not because she is emotionally attached, but because she remembers how it had felt to stab him with the screwdriver. It makes her sick to think of it, the burned memory of feeling his muscles give, the smell of blood and the sounds of ripped flesh flapping.

"S-so we agree on the new rules? You can try this for me?" and she looks up at him and sees him staring at her intently. She swallows and her eyes lock onto his hand as it rises from his lap, fingers just barely brushing her lips and he leans in, inhaling her scent again and she waits patiently for him to finish with whatever he is imagining.

"Greta." he whispers out and she shivers at the sound of longing that he is emitting in that one breath of her name. If a normal man could sound like that most women would be doomed. She closes her eyes and tries to imagine it's Malcolm saying her name with such lust but the only face she can see is Brahm's and so she opens her eyes and looks away from him.

"Greta?" he asks in his half formed voice and she manages to force herself to look back to him.

His finger points to the clipboard and she realizes he wants to continue with the day, "Right, of course, Brahms...what's next...oh, right….clean the traps. Okay, I will be back, why don't you choose the book you want me to read today and when I get back we can try to get that done….my, my, things are out of order today, sorry Brahmsy."

As she stands he follows suit and runs his fingers down her face, "Pretty Greta, new rules are fine, as long as you follow them….completely." and she shivers at the implication of it, at the fact that his voice is throaty and masculine and she feels something happen she refuses to accept.

Her heart gives a single hard pump and her belly shoots a very small sliver of excitement to her lower abdomen. She plays it off well and nods before she sets the clipboard down and heads for the door, slow and easy, "Of course. I will be right back Brahms, choose your book."

She closes the door and as soon as she has that privacy she brings her hands quickly to her lower abdomen and takes a deep breath, "No, no don't fall for it. It's a cycle, you are feeding the cycle...you have to break it...I won't fall into another abusive relationship….breath...just...don't...don't do it." She begs herself as she realizes she is more vulnerable than she originally thought.

 _It's going to happen, you don't know anything else, don't remember the times before the abuse. Six years of living under my thumb and now even with me dead, you have found another man to dominate and brutalize you. What a stupid bitch-_

Greta shakes her head and grits her teeth, Cole's voice sounding razor sharp and vile in her mind. She was not going to fall back into it, she was going to break the cycle. She wasn't going to make the same mistakes as she did with Cole, no, she had escaped him, she would escape Brahms.

 _Did you escape me? I found you didn't I? If Malcolm hadn't been there, if the little mask monster hadn't killed me, what would you have done? You know you would have come with me, you would have given in to me, it's what you do, making excuses, trying to give us what we want while you plan your own agenda but you never follow through. Whore._

"Shut up." she hisses to herself. Only having twenty minutes at best to make her rounds to the traps she quickly moves through the house and enters the kitchen to find Malcolm waiting.

"What happened to your hand?" he asks and she instantly lies, "I caught it in the-" she stops and growls at herself, "No, Brahms slammed it in the door of the bathroom." she says and she doesn't give Malcolm a chance to continue speaking, she crosses to him and takes up his face in her hands.

"Malcolm, listen to me please, there is a chance...a chance I could be compromised...it's a cycle...always a cycle….once you get used to something it is hard to break it...don't let me relapse… don't let me…" she stops mid sentence while looking into his eyes and though at first he is confused he seems to understand what she is saying and nods.

Greta leans forward and plants a kiss on his lips before she pulls away, "I negotiated the rules with Brahms and put some new ones in place that will help us get the hell out of here. You will be taken care of until I can find the key, and I will have an hour to myself everyday, time for me to look around and come up with a plan."

"How did you manage that?" he asks with a small excited smirk.

"Luck. I have to go clean the traps, sit tight…" she turns away but is stopped by Malcolm calling to her, "Greta, love? Do you think you might negotiate a bathroom break at some point?"

She winces and nods before she turns to head outside.

PAGEBREAK

There is no time for Greta's break today, she tries to get through the rest of the rules and her normal chores of the day but now that Brahms is no longer taking up residence in the walls she finds it's hard to focus on the tasks before her.

She tries to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen, but despite Malcolm's presence Brahm's comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her as she works.

Then there was the fiasco of trying to shave his beard for the first time. It is thick and unkept so she knows she will need a buzzer for the first time.

Finding one had been difficult but luckily had a spare, though, it does her little good for every time she turns it on Brahms steps back and away, looking at the thing with terror and breathing quite heavily.

She gives up quickly, telling him they will try again tomorrow. Lunch is tense because Brahms feeds Malcolm once again, and the man asks to be allowed to use the restroom. To this, Brahms just stares, waiting for a rather long time before he leaves and comes back with a key.

Greta had been sorely tempted to try and get it but knew it was pointless as Brahms had once again pulled the butcher's knife from the drawer and walked the man to the bathroom, leaving Greta in the kitchen to wait and worry.

Upon their return Malcolm had given her the most subtle of nods that it had gone okay and that he had not given Brahms reason to question his decision to allow the man use of the toilet.

Once Malcolm was again restrained Brahms had taken the key and returned it to its hiding place, leaving Greta to put her face in her hands and sigh in frustration.

After that it was time for their walk but they had to wait until dark so Greta played the harpsichord while Brahms laid on the couch nearby. His eyes locking on to nothing and staring without blinking as he seemed to disappear into some manifestation of heaven.

When the sun finally sets Greta knows it is nearing their time to go outside and so she leaves the room and returns shortly with her coat and Brahms's green cardigan.

"Come on Brahms. It's cold out, I don't want you to get sick….don't you have shoes?" she asks as she looks at his bare feet.

He simply stares at the ground and doesn't move, she kneels down next to him and brings fingers to run through his soft curls, "Hey, what is it Brahms? Don't you feel well?"

His face turns to the darkened window and he lets out a whine and Greta suddenly understands.

"I know, you really don't like it outside, but why don't we just start small. No walking tonight, let's just go enjoy the balcony okay? One small step at a time, yeah?"

He nods sullenly and she tries to give a reassuring smile as she takes his hand and leads him through the house. They exit out of the pool room and onto the balcony, the grounds below looking vast and dark, the quiet of the night soaking the air with a stillness that Greta wishes she could surrender to.

Stopping at the railing she tucks her toes under the edge, a precaution should Brahms decide to throw her over, though, in truth, she doubts that is even close to what he is thinking.

She continues to study the darkness before them, hearing the faint rustle of the wind in the leaves and a random owl hooting. Brahms tenses at the noise and ducks down behind the railing, hands gripping the decorative cement pillars as his head jerks about, looking for the creature in question.

Greta slowly tucks down next to him and gently takes his hand, pulling it to her chest as she tries to distract him.

"Brahms, it's just an owl. There is a stuffed one in the parlor. Enjoy the quiet, the dark fresh air."

She coaxes him gently to stand back up and when he is fully upright she smiles.

"See? Nothing bad can get you out here. It's all just your fears getting the better of you. I'm right here. You are safe Brahms." and his face slowly turns to look at her, his eyes finding hers in the darkness before looking down to their joined hands.

"Greta." comes a small timid call from the boyish voice, it's muffled by the mask so she leans closer only to feel fingers ghost up her neck and into her hair.

"Brahms…" she starts but he pulls his other hand from hers and brings it to her side, running it gently around to her back where he then presses in order to bring her closer.

"Greta." he whispers again and she hears him smell her hair, feeling his fingers tighten around her shirt and knuckles bite into her back.

"Wait…" she starts but she is silenced when a small burst of heat gently flows in her lower abdomen and she clenches her eyes closed.

"No, not him...don't let him…" she whispers out as her face comes to rest against Brahms's chest and his heat encompasses her. She feels the taller man's chin rest on the top of her head before the fingers threaded through her hair tighten and she lets out a hiss from pain.

"Don't hurt me...please god don't hurt me." she finds herself whispering and to her relief his grip on her does loosen but this strange unwanted embrace remains.

"Oh Greta." his voice shutters out her name, his tone falling from that of a child down to that of a lustful young man.

"K-kiss...please….just one kiss…." he begs and he suddenly moves to press her against the stones of the house, his hands leaving their perches to take her upper arms and he leans down to look at her, "One kiss pretty Greta." he shutters again and he leans in before she can protest.

The cold lips of the mask find hers quickly and she can hear him making those kissing noises, she can't imagine what he must be thinking a kiss feels like, for he is essentially just licking and pressing to the backside of his mask.

Pressing at his chest does little to help her but she knows she must break his focus, must make him stop, for if he gets too excited he will surely try to push her into more.

She pulls her face away and he pursues but she speaks his name harshly and he jerk his head to look at her, "It's time for bed Brahms, no more kisses tonight, don't you want to cuddle?"

His eyes, even in the darkness, look raw and stormy, his breathing from behind the mask is labored. His hands tighten on her arms before his head drops and he whines, "Yes...but...kisses…" he argues and he stomps his foot impatiently.

"It's time for bed." she repeats again and she pulls away from him gently, his head rising again to watch her go towards the doors. When he stands up straight his eyes seem to narrow and slowly he turns completely before following her in.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Greta is in a panic.

She knows the reason why her body is reacting, why it is betraying her. She did not think it would, not with a person like Brahms. She thought she would have more time, before her mind started to relapse into survival mode.

The things the human mind will do in order to keep its sanity was disturbing sometimes, but it was particularly convoluted for someone who has gone through years of abuse. While Brahm's physical abuse had been limited to only a few random acts, his dominating and abrasive personality did remind her at times of Cole.

But Brahms is another beast entirely. Her body is ready for the inevitable, already preparing itself to suffer through the ordeal of sexual assault. Greta is no fool, she knew the instant she had turned back for Malcolm that there was a very good chance Brahms would recapture her.

She also knew that his intentions towards her were not in ANY way good natured. He wanted her, craved her attentions and touches and due to her experience with Cole she knew it was only a matter of time.

At some point he would go to far, would push the boundaries she was trying to lay out and eventually he would snap and simply have his way with her. Her body was only following suit with what it had learned to do. If you can't escape it, learn to like it, make yourself immune to the devastating effects of it. Be stronger, and if you can't beat them, join them.

That was the partial cause of her pregnancy, learning when it was easier and wiser to simply comply and try to enjoy it, versus refusing and getting a bash to her head.

Brahms was no different in that regard, at some point he would initiate intimacy with her, and at some point she would not be able to say no for fear of repercussions, in this case, Malcolm possibly losing his life.

She did not want to give in to this creature who walked so quietly next to her, this man child who was far more messed up than Cole had ever been. He was her knew warden, but just like before with Cole she was all too eager to escape prison. She did not want to fall back into the same routine, trying to make this man happy and getting abused when she failed. She did not want to kowtow to his every whim, loose her family and friends, be afraid every morning she woke up and every night she went to bed.

She wants Malcolm, someone gentle and kind, someone funny and willing to let her be who she is and make mistakes without yelling at her or feeling the need to punish her.

They reach Brahms's bedroom and she looks at the bed, suddenly realizing they are hardly going to fit comfortably and that is fine with her. The less comfort, the less likely for any funny business.

She guides him to the bed and lays him down, tucking the covers around him and prepares to lay down behind him.

Tucking an arm over his side and pressing her body close to his back she hears him sigh in resplendent satisfaction. Her own concerns and fears easing right alongside his.

"Greta?" His child's voice asked sleepily, "Yes, Brahms?"

"Will you sing to me, please?"

Greta swallows, thinking of how strange it was to sing a lullaby to a full grown man. Though she knew her own situation, knew Brahms was anything but normal, she still was reluctant to sing a song to him.

"What would you like me to sing?" She asked softly.

"My lullaby." it still mystifies her how he can do that with his voice, part of her is curious to see if he is even aware of it. How much of this was manipulation and how much of it was his own psychosis.

"I don't have a very good singing voice, is that alright?" She asks.

"Oh yes, I can't sing either... do you sound like a frog?"

Greta could not stop the very slight laugh that slipped out, hearing such a silly thing coming from a man like Brahms in that voice was too ridiculous not to laugh at.

"I don't think so, why don't you decide."

"Alright, begin." He ordered in that happy child like voice and she swore she could hear a grin curving his lips as he said it.

"Lullaby and good night, sweet dreams and sleep tight, I am here now to stay, when you sleep and while you play. Go to sleep and rest, so you'll wake up your best, go to sleep and dream, until you see the first sun beam."

There was silence, nothing from Brahms for several seconds before he whispered out, "Again."

Greta repeated the song, singing it soft and gentle in hopes of lulling him to sleep. The sooner he was out the sooner she could start looking for the key and check in on Malcolm.

When she finished she thought he might have slipped off as he didn't ask her to sing it again and his breathing was even and his body relaxed. She went to get up but his arm suddenly clamped down on hers and then she was rolling.

He pulled her gently, coming to rest on his back while simultaneously pulling her into his side, placing her hand on his chest, the tips of her fingers just barely touching the chest hair above the rim of his beater.

"Like an angel." He shuddered out, dropping from the higher registers down to the lower before sighing, "My pretty Greta. My perfect lovely Greta."

Her heart was beating fast yet she forced calm, coming to realize that as this was their first night trying to follow the new rules she may have to wait it out and try and search tomorrow. He still didn't trust her enough to sleep without her next to him, she could tell by how quick he was to change positions when she tried to leave.

He held her close, her head resting in the crook of his arm and she sighed as she closed her eyes and felt tears of frustration come.

 _You should have left when you had the chance, should have ran for help. It's what Malcolm had wanted you to do but you stayed, just had to face your fears, had to try and be some strong and brave woman. Well, guess what, you're a fucking idiot and now you are not only stuck in this situation but both your life and Malcolm's life rests in your hands. If you fail, if you stumble or second guess yourself at all, you won't be the only person to suffer._

 _Stupid, weak, foolish, useless, dumb, ignorant-_ It was Cole she was hearing, chidding her, screaming at her and telling her how utterly useless she was and she pressed her face more firmly into Brahms's side as the tears began to truly flow.

 _Calm down, you will disturb Brahms, you need him to sleep, need him to let his guard down so you can-_

"Greta? Pretty Greta, are you alright?" comes the gentle call of a child and she sags even more, realizing she is never going to get him to sleep at this rate and that ugly voice taunts her even more.

 _Useless, foolish, stupid, incompetent, waste of life, idiot-_

She doesn't respond to Brahms, just tucks in closer, doesn't want to deal with her situation, wishes this wasn't happening. She has to stay strong, rise above her self doubt and her own mental instabilities.

 _Well look at that, one crazy against another, wonder who will win, let's place a bet-_

"Shut up, Cole." she hisses softly.

"Greta?" Brahms asks in confusion and she grits her teeth and mentally shoves Cole's voice away, taking a deep breath and looking up at the masked face of the psychopath she is currently sharing a bed with.

"I'm sorry Brahms, I was just talking to myself, I didn't mean to disturb you. Go to sleep alright?"

Those eyes stared at her a moment, carrying in them a look of intense curiosity, trying to sort out just what must be going through her mind. His head gently cocking to the side as he gazes unblinking into her eyes, the deadness within making Greta's hairs stand on end.

Suddenly Brahms shifts again and Greta is rolled onto her side, Brahms coming up behind and wrapping his arms around her. He tucks in close, his face resting right next to her ear and her eyes grow wide as he whispers in his regular voice, "If you want him to leave you alone, I can help you, Pretty Greta, all you have to do is ask."

Greta sucks in a deep breath as the tears in her eyes redoubled, anxiety swirling in her stomach at the very notion that he had somehow knew exactly what was going on inside her head.

"There is only one way to quiet the voices, Pretty Greta. Only one way, I can make the voices quiet, I know how. All you need do is ask."

"I don't- I don't know what you are talking about-"

"Tut tut, don't lie Greta, otherwise I will have to punish you." comes that child like voice.

 _Am I talking to both of them? Is he playing with me? What in God's name does he mean? What do I do? What do I say?_

"Sleep now, Pretty Greta. Sleeeeeeep, and let the voices go away, they aren't your keeper. You are mine, my sweet Pretty Greta, to love and care for, forever and ever." and he shuddered into her ear and his hands fisted her shirt and pressed into her stomach as his groin gently pushed against her backside.

Greta swallowed, her body shaking and her eyes straining to look behind her even though her head does not move. Her breathing increases and she thinks her heart might beat out of her chest.

Spots appeared before her eyes and her body tenses before the walls in front of her smear and then blackness creeps in, her nails digging into his arms before suddenly going lax.

"My Pretty Greta, so much suffering, we will have to fix that won't we? Yes, we must. Sleep now, my Pretty Greta, sleep soundly. We will play again tomorrow."


	3. Chapter 3

**A/n: I did not have time to even give this a cursory glance so you will find a lot of bad grammar and spelling in this one, sorry, but I am trying to keep the posts coming.**

 **WARNINGS: Scenes of a sexual nature, profanity, bad language and other things. No blood in this chappy as far as I can remember so here we go and Read and Review if you like it.**

 **Chapter Three**

 **And if I Die before I Wake**

This time when Greta wakes up it is from the call of her name, the voice of a child pressing through her subconscious and drawing her back to the land of the living. She remembers what is going on, knows who the body is resting behind her own, though that person is seemingly sitting up.

"Greta, it's time to wake up." the voice is soft and gentle, a child's call to action, a gentle nudge of her shoulder and then a few innocent tugs on her shirt, "Wake up, Greta. It's time for breakfast." the little boy says near playfully.

"Oh, ow, my head." and she opens her eyes to see an actual child standing next to her bed only inches from her face. She instantly jerks back and nearly tumbles off the bed behind her.

Hands seize her shoulders and yank her away from the edge, her body propelled forward to collide with the man before her and he rocks back. They both tumble off the bed, Greta landing on top, his hands releasing her and her own head smacking the floor just over his right shoulder.

She lays there dazed for just a moment, her once faint headache suddenly roaring to life and she hisses before she feels hands grab her arms and hoist her up. She dangles there over Brahms, her legs straddling his torso while his eyes are looking at her with wide shock and he pants.

Looking behind her she sees the doll standing next to the bed, no doubt a practical joke by Brahms. _How the hell does he get up without waking me!_

Greta looks back to the man below her and waits for a scream or yell, waits to be tossed aside and possibly waylaid by his foot. Instead she is greeted by the happy and playful laugh of a child, those wide eyes scrunching up as he says, "Silly Greta, adults don't fall out of bed, only children do."

Relief floods her, as apparently Brahms enjoyed their little fall. She allows a small smile to fill her lips and gives a soft chuckle, the only thing she can manage given her splitting headache and the fact she is terrified.

Suddenly he eases her down, releasing her arms and raising a hand to her brow, "Does your head hurt?" the child asks, his finger gently touching an apparent cut above her right eye and Greta flinches, "Shit." she hisses as she raises a hand to gingerly touch the bump.

She is instantly propelled onto the floor, Brahm's coming to rest on top as he cocks his head and glares down at her, "No swearing!" the boy's voice says angrily and Greta nods her head quickly, "Yes, sorry, Brahms. You are right, swearing is bad. I won't do it again." she says as she swallows, her heart once again returning to the same pounding from the previous night.

Her hands are before her, clutched to her chest, brow furrowed in worry though she tries to keep the fear out of her eyes, "Brahms, please….please let me up now. I need to make breakfast and check on our guest."

His eyes seem unfocused as they leave her and travel down her body, a hand moving away from the side of her head to gently stroke down her side, "Pretty Greta." he whispers, the child's voice gone.

 _Not this again, I can't do this, I can't deal with this every three seconds, it's too much. I can't bare it anymore-_

"What do you want?" she suddenly barks and his face jerks up to look at her, "Are you going to rape me, Brahms?" she stammers out, the fear finally leaving her as anger and frustration set in.

He slides his face up to hers, those empty soulless eyes looking into her own, his mask only inches from her face, "I've been raped before-" she starts and his hand instantly latches on to her face, nails digging into her skin as he growls, "Who!"

This surprises her as a true child would not react as such. In fact, they would most likely not know what rape is. Still, she doesn't linger on this, merely tucking it into the back of her mind as another piece fitting into the puzzle that is Brahms.

"I'm not an innocent flower Brahms, I am a woman, and I can take any pain you give me. So if you're going to do it, just do it." she near spits out the last part, anger finally consuming her as she realizes in this moment she isn't afraid of it any more.

Why fear the inevitable when you can just close your eyes, grit your teeth and get through it. Once it is done you move on and don't look back, she dealt with Cole, she can deal with him and maybe after he gets it out of his system he will tire of her and the real fight to escape can begin.

"No, Pretty Greta, it's time for breakfast, our guest is waiting." and the voice is that of a young man, proper and english those eyes stare down at her expectantly before he slowly pushes off her and then offers his hand to help her to stand.

She doesn't take it, though she thanks him quietly and then motions to the door, "After you then."

 **Page Break**

Breakfast is a quiet affair as Brahms is with her from start to finish this time and there is no opportunity to speak to Malcolm. She makes enough food for the three of them and once again Brahms feeds their guest.

 _He is keeping you away from him, playing the police man and ushering Malcolm to and from the bathroom, feeding him and bringing him water. Not a single moment for you to speak to him or acknowledge him for that matter. You_ _ **have**_ _to get away from Brahms today long enough to look for that key, try to spy where he goes and gets it from. Find a way to get Malcolm out or call for help._

Suddenly an idea occurs to her, one that should have a long time ago. She doesn't need to escape with Malcolm and run out of here, she just needs to get the police to come here and be out the door when they arrive!

In all reality she might not even need the key if she could find a way to cut the chains. She could wait until the very last second, the police could be outside waiting when they run. She just has to call them and as soon as they get here…

How would she be able to cut Malcolm loose and get to the front door before Brahms could stop them? What distraction was great enough that he would be unaware-

 _Me, I could use myself. Cutting the chains would only take seconds, then she could distract Brahms while Malcolm called the police. As soon as the police arrived they could rush in and get her away from him. Shoot him down if necessary. When he is listening to his music, maybe I could slip away, call the police myself, cut the chains and then return and keep Brahms busy while Malcolm waits to let the police in. Could they jump him and keep him busy, get him to chase them again, she could make a route, learn the house better, then the police show up and-_

It all swormed in her head as she tried to figure it out and she set her fork down a little too harshly and sighed, Brahms looking up at her suddenly and she glances up, "Sorry, Brahms. I didn't mean to startle you. Will you be a good boy and watch Malcolm while I go and get some medicine for my headache?"

Brahms slowly turns his head to look at Malcolm who tries to keep his face neutral but she can see the worry and shock at her request, "Brahms, please, will you be a good boy and do this for me? I will be right back, I promise."

Brahms stands slowly, walking to the drawer and removing the knife, before moving across the space to stand next to Malcolm, he raises a hand and gently puts it on the man's head, "Okay, Greta." the child says with a small giggle after.

She nods before pointing a finger at him, "Brahms, I'm trusting you. You will be a nice boy, yes? Malcolm is our friend."

Brahms slowly looks away from Greta and his eyes fall onto the man in the chair and he gives a slow nod, his eyes never leaving his as the hand with the knife hangs loosely at his side.

"Good. I will be right back." Greta glances to Malcolm who swallows thickly and stares after her. Greta leaves the room calmly, not wanting to arouse suspicion. She finds the phone in the hall, looking over her shoulder to make sure Brahms isn't following and quietly picks up the phone.

The line is dead, not even a hint of static or a buzz of electricity.

"Of course he would, you idiot." she chides herself softly and she sets the phone back down on the receiver before heading for the bathroom. Upon entering she goes straight to the mirror and opens it, reaching for the Paracetamol. Removing the top she takes out two and pops them in her mouth before placing the bottle back in the medicine cabinet and shutting the door.

She jumps when she see Brahms standing in the doorway and swings around to look at him. No one is there though and she breathes a sigh of relief, "You're losing it Greta. Absolutely losing it." and she turns back to the mirror and freezes when she sees Brahms still standing in the doorway behind her.

She takes one more quick glance over her shoulder but sees nothing, her eyes hardening as she looks back to the mirror and sees that mask leering at her from the doorway.

 _There is only one way to quiet the voices, Pretty Greta. Only one way, I can make the voices quiet, I know how. All you need do is ask._

Her eyes darken as she watches this phantom manifestation raise out a hand to her, _I'll show you_ -

"Leave me alone!" and she swings back around, pressing her back to the sink and glaring at the empty doorway. Slowly, as if she is waiting for Brahms to jump out and scare her, she inches towards the door.

Upon reaching it she leans out, looking down the hall both ways before she looks back to the mirror, Brahm's masked face just over her shoulder, a hand coming to graze knuckles down her cheek, _Let me show you-_

"No, oh nonononono-" she whines suddenly and then she looks away from the mirror and heads back to the kitchen, her feet moving fast and her eyes jumping around as she hears Brahms's words echoing faintly in the back of her mind.

When she enters the kitchen she stops abruptly, seeing Brahms crouched before Malcolm on the floor and lifting a glass of water to his lips.

Brahm's looks to her, Malcolm only glances before darting his eyes back to the man in front of him, "Greta?" he asks with confusion, "Are you better now?" and that childish voice wraps around her and echoes in her mind, making her stomach twist in anger and disgust.

Still, she must continue, must keep going and she nods once, "Y-yes. I am fine. Come on Brahms, it's time for some poetry." the man stands slowly, his eyes remaining fixed on her as he slowly approaches, placing the water glass and knife in the sink along his way to her, never once looking away.

Something in his eyes, she can see it, he is studying her carefully, trying to determine if within the time she was gone something has changed, if she found a weapon, if she has done something rash and broken the rules.

Greta swallows but says nothing and once he is beside her she turns and starts to head towards the study.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Sitting on the couch he watches her scan the books, his heart jerking and twitching like a wild thing in his chest. His mind a blank buzz of nothing save for the words his mother had written.

 _Mine, to love and care for, mine all mine, to love and care for-_

He used to hear their voices in his head all the time, trying to remember all the rules, chiding him when he was bad, encouraging him to remain hidden and be the best shadow he could be.

 _Silent as the grave, my son. You must be nothing but that which you have become._

He doesn't hear them in his head anymore, he knows how to quiet the voices now. All those wicked ugly women who had come before, their harsh tones and evil eyes glaring at him, telling him he was not real.

He showed them who was real, just like he showed Emily….

He is real and he has found the most perfect nanny, the most perfect person. She is so special she gets to know the real him. His eyes fixate on her as she scans the books on the shelves, so many to choose from.

The buzzing in his head intensifies and his fingers tighten on his knees, his back pulling even straighter as he knows his mother would be so disappointed if he doesn't maintain the perfect posture she had taught him.

Pretty Greta shifts and he cocks his head just a little to look at her more closely, the woman bending over to check the lower shelves. His hands clench tighter as an image finally comes and he sees himself slamming her into the wall and taking up her hips in his hands before-

" _Oh, Brahms, those are dirty, filthy, disgusting thoughts. Little boys do not think such sinful thoughts, you are too young to know the body of a woman Bramsy, do not think of such pervers things._

He remembers his mother saying that just before pressing him into the walls and slamming the door after him, the darkness closing in.

He knows she is right, little boys do not think about such things, but he finds he can't help it and he wants to, wants to know why these thoughts keep coming to him. His father had told him once it was alright to think such things if he did not act upon them with a woman.

He chose in this instance to listen to his father and allowed his mind to wonder, exploring the images his mind fed him. Since Pretty Greta had come, those images were growing more and more frequent.

She smells so good, her skin so soft, her body seemingly meant to fit against him perfectly, she is his perfect Pretty Greta and she was all his to love and care for.

 _Are you going to rape me, Brahms?_

His head barely jerks, the only evidence of his sudden surprise at hearing Greta's voice in his head. It is new, and he thinks, he may not silence her voice, it is so pretty after all.

It used to be only his mother and father, occasionally the nasty little girl he had been force to make quiet, sometimes the scornful voices of the nannies that had come before, the ones he had also silenced. A wicked smile comes to his lips, he recalls how they smelled after, how hot they were inside and how a few extra cuts had made their insides grow cold.

He had found how to silence the voices and make them quiet, only letting them through when he wanted to hear them or needed them to remind him of things. But his Pretty Greta, hearing her voice in his head is wonderful if not a little overwhelming.

She had asked if he was going to rape her, and Brahms licked his lips at the thought. He knows he would enjoy it but it would not due to have his Pretty Greta hate him. No, she must love him as much as he loves her. She will be here with him forever, and though it pains him, he must not hurt her beyond what can be repaired.

 _Of course she will love you, your such a sweet little boy, no one can help but to fall in love with you once they meet you…this new nanny will adore such a sweet boy as you-_ the buzzing intensifies and images flash of Greta underneath him, then his mother yelling about the mess he had made in his room right before they left. He hadn't wanted them to go, but upon making the realization that if they left he would be alone with Pretty Greta he had halted his tantrum and waited patiently for them to leave.

 _Patience is a virtue._

Brahms nods his head slowly once, his eyes sharpening as Greta stands and turns with a book in her hands. Her eyes glance over to him and he stares right back, unblinking and drinking in her pretty face.

Her eyes show no fear and while seeing fear in her eyes does make him excited, he likes seeing her stare at him without fear as well, there is something satisfying in knowing she isn't afraid of him, everyone else was afraid of him, but not his Pretty Greta.

"Alright, we will read from this book today." and Brahms watches as she slowly crosses to him and sits down tentatively. He continues to stare at her, engraving and etching her face into his memory.

He wants to always be able to see her even when she isn't in the room with him. He watches as she swallows and sees her throat muscles clench and another image unbidden comes and he sees himself licking and biting on her throat.

His fists tighten even more, _You have a surprise for me, you are such a naughty boy-_

 _I am your naughty boy…_ he thinks happily, knowing the instant he had heard her say it that he would never forget the positive tone she had associated with being the dirty, filthy and disgusting wretch his mother had called him.

The idea of having someone who might embrace his sinful thoughts made him even more excited, to be accepted as he was, to enjoy the things he enjoyed that he wasn't supposed to. To have a person he could _share_ with and show the things he thought about, he had always wanted to have secrets with someone.

It was why he had offered to help her quiet her own voices, he could see it in her face, that bad man, the one who had come to take her away, who had destroyed the boy. He still talks to her, just like his mummy and daddy had for so long, just like Emily had. He could help her quiet him, make her stronger like himself.

She could be just like him, they could be just like each other, they could play in all the ways he has always wanted to. She would play with him, she wouldn't be like Emily, that nasty little creature hadn't wanted to play the way he did. She had said mean things, thrown things at him, hit him over and over with the rock and so he had hit her back.

 _Hit her until she stopped hurting me, until she just stopped moving, she needed to be quiet….I only wanted to play….so mean…..why was she so mean….so….angry…..so…..ugly._

Pretty Greta clears her throat and starts to read, his ears honing in on her soft voice, her foreign accent enchanting him and he grows excited again. Tentatively he leans over, going slow so as not to scare her, he doesn't want to scare her, not right now...maybe later.

She has only read the first line but stops as he lays his head in her lap, inhaling her scent and then closing his eyes as he just barely manages to tuck his legs up on the couch.

To his utter delight she does not refuse him or tell him to move and she starts again, reading the poetry loud and clear but maintaining the lovely voice that is her own.

Minutes tick by on the clock, and Brahms feels his mind empty completely. His heart finally stops it's chaotic pounding and his body relaxes.

He hears how her voice changes from tight to relaxed as she becomes accustomed to his head in her lap. She will become accustomed to a lot of things soon…..

He can feel her own body relax and he smiles happily knowing his mother is right.

 _Patience….._

After a while, his eyes having closed to enjoy this moment, they snap open when he feels her fingers slide into his hair and nails gently run over his scalp.

He lets out a high pitched shudder and her hand suddenly stops but he absolutely does not want her to stop and he grabs her wrist tight, Pretty Greta jumping and falling silent.

"Please, Pretty Greta, please-" and he tries to move her hand as she had been doing just seconds earlier.

"Alright, Brahms, please let go of my wrist, you are hurting me." he instantly complies, not having realized he was grabbing her so hard.

Slowly her hand continues through his messy hair and another strangled whine comes from his throat, he cannot maintain his little voice in this position, only his big voice will come forth but he tries to fight it and the sound grows more strangled by the second.

"Brahms-" his Pretty Greta starts and he just barely tilts his head to acknowledge her, "You don't have to talk in your little boy voice if you do not want to. Your big boy voice is fine, don't feel like you have to for me. The doll is not here and I like your big boy voice."

His heart is pounding in his chest and he brings shaky hands to his _handsome_ face, the face his mother had told him to wear, the face she loved so much because his real face wasn't good enough, because his real face scared her.

 _You are damaged, Brahms, this will hide the damaged, make you look like the handsome boy you are. I want to see the face of my sweet handsome little boy._

 _What's wrong with your voice, it sounds dreadful, are you sick? That's not the voice of my little boy, where is my sweet little boy, he can't be here now with a voice like that. You must sound like the sweet little boy you are, Bramsy, show me you are my sweet little boy._

"Brahms? Are you alright?"

He feels his breathing increase, knows he is about to have a fit but he can't stop himself and jerks up from the couch as he swings around to look at her, "No!" he finally manages to get out in his little voice, the voice he is supposed to have, the voice his mummy likes, the voice she wanted.

"Brahms, please, I'm sorry, it's alright, you can talk however you want. I didn't mean to-"

He feels anger and confusion come as he isn't sure what he is supposed to do, "No! Mummy says I must speak in my proper voice! I am her sweet little boy, I must sound like her sweet little boy! I am a sweet little boy!" he nearly shrieks, "Mummy says so, mummy….mummy….mummy…" and he grips fingers into his hair as he sees the confusion on Pretty Greta's face and wishes he could explain it better.

"Brahms, it's alright, use your words, you can talk to me, use your words-" but he can see she is shaking and sees that hint of fear he likes so much and urges swarm him as an image of him grabbing her throat and choking her comes to his mind, Emily flashing there with it, her dead eyes glaring at him.

He suddenly crosses to the table and swipes his hand across the surface, sending the items on top flying, before turning and walking to the door. Grabbing the handle, he slams the door over and over, not stopping until the urges to hurt his Pretty Greta are gone.

 _Don't hurt her yet, patience, have patience, she is yours to love and care for, do not scare her right now, save it for later, you can play with her later._

He slams the door one more time before standing there and closing his eyes, his breath heaving and his brow sweaty. He turns when he hears shifting and sees Greta has stood with the book in her arms, pressing it to her chest.

She has backed into the corner and stares at him, fear and confusion in her eyes and he slowly begins to walk over to her, his Pretty Greta growing more fearful but not trying to get around him.

He has her in the corner seconds later, hands coming to slam on either side of her head and he hisses out angrily, "Mummy says I am her little boy! I must make mummy happy!" he says in his little voice, determined to make her understand.

 _Strangle her, choke her…..DO NOT TOUCH HER YET!_

He leans in and presses his mask to her hair, smelling her scent and feeling his body grow excited, his blood pumping and his brain coming alive with wants and urges that are strong and only growing.

She slowly looks up at him, her body trembling and her eyes filled with tears that she hasn't yet shed before she says softly, "I am not your mother Brahms, your mother is...gone...you can do whatever you want, I won't tell."

His eyes lock with hers and he stares deep into them, doesn't blink, doesn't move as he sees in her eyes honesty and he cocks his head so gently, determined to catch a single hint of a lie in her promise.

Pretty Greta stares back, fearful yet determined to show her honesty on the matter.

A thought comes to his mind then and he cocks his head further as he removes a hand from the wall and presses it into her hair, he can see her shiver at the contact, can tell it disgusts her and he licks his lips, her disinterest not hindering him in the slightest before he leans in next to her ear and asks softly in his big voice, "Tell me, Pretty Greta, what do _you_ want? A boy, or a man?"

He feels pride swell that he was able to get the complete sentence out, to be able to speak to her like Malcolm has before, the full smooth sentence being a challenge to him often as his brain cannot always sort the words fast enough for his mouth to say.

He waits there next to her ear, listening to her shallow uneven breathing, trying to control his urges to press into her, he wants her answer first, wants to know what she wants, a rare thing for him as he often throws fits if he is denied his own desires, the boy always gets what he wants.

She doesn't respond so he tries again, tries to use his words like Pretty Greta said, "Mummy wants her little boy, daddy wants the perfect son, you wanted a child of your own… a nice man like Malcolm…." he has to stop because suddenly the words leave him as jealousy rears up and he angrily slams a fist on the wall next to her head, his Pretty Greta jumping and he tries to calm her with soft hushes and a gentle nudge of his face against hers, "Pretty Greta, what would you make me into in order to suit your fancy, I will become anything, if it pleases you, you are mine, to love and care for."

And he suddenly feels exhausted, he hasn't tried to focus his words this much in a long time. Little tidbits of phrases made mummy happy, daddy often didn't speak to him directly, only the doll. The other nannies didn't speak to him at all, but Greta, she wants to talk, she asks him hard questions, makes him think and have to focus to speak clearly.

He knows words, knows how to talk, but his mind doesn't always give him the words he knows, sometimes his mind is mean and keeps the words he wants hidden. He feels the exhaustion of it all and lets out a shaky breath before suddenly grabbing up Pretty Greta's face and screaming, "What do you want! I will be whatever you want! I did it for mummy I can do it for you! Pretty Greta, boy or man!"

She still says nothing and he gets angry, why won't she speak to him, why is she being so mean!

"Speak! Speak!" he orders and he releases her face and she jerks back into the corner before saying, "Be what you want!" she suddenly yells and then she ducks her face down behind the book still in her hands and Brahms stares at her.

His hand slides off the wall and hangs at his side, his unblinking eyes staring at her hard, taking in her quivering form, something that normally would excite him but in this moment his mind is completely empty, his often turbulent urges and feelings temporarily numbed.

Pretty Greta glances up at him from behind her book but he just stares, having no clue what to do, it's as if his mind has reset and there is nothing for it. Nothing for him to try and process and he is left stranded, unable to do anything.

"Brahms?" her shaky voice calls softly but he can do nothing but stare at her, his mind seemingly starting to work again and he tries to process what she has just said.

 _Be what you want- what do I want? I want to be mummy's good little boy, I want to be daddy's perfect son, I want to be Greta's….what do I want to be….I am her_ _ **child.**_ _..to love and care for... Her…._ _ **good boy**_ _….her..._ _ **Naughty boy**_ _….her…._ _ **caregiver**_ _….. Her_ _ **unwanted**_ _…..her…._ _ **fear**_ _…..her…._ _ **tormentor**_ _….her_ _ **playmate**_ _…_

"Brahms, will you be a good boy and sit down with me?" and his body moves without thought, walking to the couch and sitting down. Pretty Greta sits beside him and slowly over the next several seconds he feels the numbness fading. He feels a hand on his _handsome_ face, the face he wears because mummy wanted her handsome little boy back, and his eyes find hers and she is staring at him.

"Pretty Greta-" he shutters out and he leans into her touch, "My Pretty Greta, to love and care for, forever and ever."

Her eyes aren't afraid right now, more confused and curious and he feels his excitement slowly swirl in his stomach.

"Brahms, do you….do you want to wear that mask?"

The question is simple, and he forces his mind to focus and leans in closer as he says in his little voice, "Mummy says I must never remove my handsome face. She wants to see my handsome face all the time."

His Pretty Greta rolls her lips together and seems to be having trouble finding her own words, another glean of satisfaction that they have something in common.

"Brahms, mummy isn't here, if you want to take off your... handsome face, I don't mind. If you want to talk in your big boy voice, I don't mind. You can do whatever you want, I won't tell, it can be our little secret."

 _Our little secret…._ And Brahms feels his heart explode and he smacks his hands on his knees excitedly and makes an approving and strangled noise of glee.

"Alright, our secret, would you like me to remove your….handsome face?" and Brahms feels himself nod once before he watches Pretty Greta raise shaky hands up and gently grip the edges of the mask.

 _Mummy gets mad when he takes it off but Greta won't and she won't tell, our secret, our special secret, mummy would be so mad, but not Pretty Greta, we will have secrets!_

He feels the mask get pulled away and watches Pretty Greta's face carefully, her clever eyes growing wide and her lips rolling together. Brahms sees her lower the mask and he continues to stare, the smile inside him not reflecting on his lips as he is too interested in watching her face.

Mummy always frowned and looked away, Daddy averted his eyes or winced, but Pretty Greta keeps staring and he cocks his head to the side, excitement growing inside his chest as she raises a trembling hand up and seconds later he feels her touch his face, the first someone has done so in such a long time.

He can't stop the shuddering sob that escapes him and he instantly grabs her wrist and presses her hand against his cheek, rubbing her it all over his face and leaning closer.

"Touch, Pretty Greta, touch, mummy doesn't touch, you touch." he manages, the words coming to fast for him to process. His eyes flutter closed and he groans when he feels her other hand come to his face as well, cupping hands on either side, "Such a handsome boy." she says softly, though her voice sounds strained he doesn't care, he doesn't care at all because she is touching him.

Suddenly a thought rams it's way into his head, the excitement and urges shoot through him so sharply he lets out a rather disturbing noise and suddenly he grabs her and yanks her to him, Pretty Greta letting out a cry of shock and he growls.

"Kiss!" he orders and he grips her arms tighter, his chest heaving and his heart pounding so hard he feels dizzy.

"No! Brahms! No!" and he stills, staring at her, not blinking, not moving as he holds her in place and tears are in her eyes and he groans, "Pleeeeeease, Pretty Greta, pleeeeease-" he sobs out, his own hands starting to shake and his breathing coming faster, "Please, kiss, kiss, kiss!" he asks desperately, seeing a flash of Emily shouting at him for trying to do this very thing.

He shakes his head and growls, "Kiss!" he suddenly yells in his big voice, the voice that always makes Pretty Greta look so scared. He can scare her into it, he knows he can, he has to, he wants to.

"NO!" She says sternly and Brahms stares at her for several seconds before he leans in and stops just before her lips, "Kiss." he hisses dangerously low, his mind pushing him to simply take what he wants. But he knows he could take it from her, force her to give him what he wants but he doesn't want to…..he wants her to…...he wants her to kiss him back. That's the whole point!

He sees her swallow, recognizes the look she gets when she is trying to think things through, she does it a lot, he knows, he watches her constantly.

Finally, he gets what he wants when she says softly, "Alright Brahms, one kiss, but please, just one, and let go of me, you're hurting me." and he loosens his hold on her arms, licks his lips and nods, "Yes, one kiss, just one, Pretty greta, please, a kiss-"

He watches his Pretty Greta closely and his excitement grows to the point of feeling like it might burst and he sucks in a breath as she leans in and gently presses her lips to his.

An urge to open his mouth comes swiftly and he does, groaning loudly, his body is shaking and he leans back on the couch, bringing her with him as everything vibrates and he feels her tongue touch his.

He cries a little in dismay as he feels his naughty part jerk and throb, his body suddenly shifting as he wraps his arms around his sweet, wonderful, clean, Pretty Greta and feels that wonderful feeling she gives him when she touches him.

It floods his body, makes him feel so good, and he breaks the kiss to bury his face in her delicious neck, it makes him better than he has felt in his whole life and he presses groans and sobs into her neck and holds her to him tighter as his hips buck and the good feeling slowly flows away.

He sits there a moment as he hears his mother's voice ring in his mind, _dirty, filthy, little boys do not do such things!_

He sobs a little harder as delight fills him, a high pitched and rather anxiety ridden squeal comes from his throat and still he kisses her neck gently over and over as he starts to rock and presses into the hazey yet soothing feeling that comes every time.

After a moment he feels Greta's hands slowly come to wrap around his head and neck, he can feel her shaking and her body stiffen.

"Brahms? Did you make a mess?" comes her voice, filled with reluctance and a tight wince.

He nods his head once and cries into her neck, "I didn't mean to, Pretty Greta, I didn't mean to, you feel so good, you touch me, mummy never touched me." he offers by way of explanation, hoping she will understand, hoping she isn't mad.

"I-It's okay Brahms, I understand, but you should go change and clean….clean the mess up. You're not in trouble but you need to try to not make a mess again, a-alright?"

Panic sets in because he wants to make a mess again, make messes over and over, the messes feel so good, "I want messes, with you, feels good, mummy never let me make messes. Disgusting, filthy, little boy's don't make messes but I want to-"

Pretty Greta doesn't say anything for a long while before she suddenly whispers something to him, he can hear the tears in her voice but he doesn't care because what she says makes his heart hammer and his hands tighten on her desperately.

"Alright, Brahms, I will make you a deal...i-if you want...when you are a good boy...you can make a mess….but just one mess, alright? And only if you are good."

He pulls his head away to look up at her and in her face he can see a sadness he has not yet seen, a fear and disgust, but he also sees pity and shame, more disgust, more uncertainty and he can see the cogs in her head turning, she is thinking again and mummy's voice comes again…

 _Patience, patience….it is a virtue…._

"I will be good, Pretty Greta! I will be a good boy, so good!"

She opens her mouth to speak and then stops before he sees it, her eyes sharpen and he knows she has just had a thought, her hands coming up to gently run through his hair and he groans, his back arching and body pulling tight as she whispers, "If you want to make a mess, that doesn't make you a good boy….it makes you a naughty one."

He whispers back quickly, "I'm your naughty boy, Pretty greta."

"Alright Brahms, once a day, if you are good, if you behave and don't hurt me or Malcolm, if you listen and do as you are told, you can be a naughty boy, and you can make a mess, okay?"

"Yes, yes Pretty Greta, I will, I will be your good naughty boy!"

"Good. Now, let's go get you cleaned up you naughty boy." and the tone in her voice is one of satisfaction and he can't stop the giggle that comes up, his little voice spilling out of him in his happiness and he presses his face to her chest and nuzzles it affectionately, "Oh, Pretty Greta, so nice and caring, mine forever, to love and care for, she is so gentle, so kind, so wonderful and nice. Emily wasn't nice, but Pretty Greta is."

He feels her stiffen but she says nothing and after a few more seconds finally says softly, "Time to let me go, Brahms. We need to clean you up and move on with the day."

"No, no, no, please Pretty Greta, please-"

"Brahms, what did we just agree on, do you want to be a good boy?" she admonishes gently and he nods slowly, knowing if he doesn't comply she may change her mind about allowing him to make messes. Slowly, reluctantly, he releases her and Pretty Greta slowly stands, looking down at him and for the first time he sees a true smile on her face, "Come on, you silly boy, let's go." and she holds out her hand to him and he takes it, her fingers lacing through his and his heart beats faster.

 _Patience, patience is a virtue…._

And even though he knows he doesn't have to he reaches for his handsome face and slowly places it back on over his real one before looking at her and she guides him out of the room.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Greta takes Brahms to his room in the walls, turning her back so he can clean himself and change his pants. Her mind is running a million miles an hour, for she has just made a decision which absolutely terrifies her, scares her out of her mind.

 _You can be a naughty boy, and you can make a mess, okay? God forgive me-_

Things are starting to make sense, the full picture of this man and what he has been through, the way his thought process works and how he will react to any given situation slowly inches further out of the fog and while she is disgusted with herself for using sexual gratification as a way to train and control the man, she also knows this could be her chance to gain the trust and control she has been desperately searching for.

She has wondered how intelligent he is, wondered how self aware he is and what he actually knows about sexuality and what a man's role is, now she knows. Having the realization that she could use his ignorance as a means to control and that she may be able to satisfy his urges for her without having to have sex with him, she was quick to offer it.

She had also gleaned a little more into what happened to Emily Cribbs.

 _Maybe he tried to initiate something with her, something sexual, and when she refused he attacked her. It wouldn't be the first time something like this had happened._

Greta recalled reading an article in the newspaper back home about a young boy who had taken a girl into the woods and tried to get her to raise her dress and flash him. She had refused and he had hit her repeatedly and left her there.

When she was found two days later she had nearly died from exposure, they had been nine years old. It wouldn't be that far fetched to think a boy like Brahms might react similarly if his own curiosity wasn't sated.

 _Alright, especially like Brahms. He seemed to have mental issues even as a young boy and so it wouldn't be a far throw to say he would have reacted violently to her rejection._

 _He goes out for a walk with Emily and they end up in the woods, he tries to do something to her, kiss her, touch her in some way….she rejects him, he attacks her and returns to his home. When she is found days later having been murdered suspicion turns on Brahms as he was the last to be seen with her and people were aware of how...odd….he was._

 _A fire starts in the house...the fire gets out of control, Brahms is caught in it, gets burned. His parents hide him in the walls…..or maybe he finds a secret door in his desperate attempt to escape._

 _Whatever happened, Brahms survives but everyone else thinks he was killed in the fire. He spends the next twenty years of his life inside the walls of this house. His mother traumatized by what her son had done to Emily, of the fact that he was so horribly scarred by the fire. Her son, a murderer and monster._

 _She couldn't handle it, keeps him hidden in the walls, creates the doll as a means to cope….Brahms….just...conforms? No, there is something missing… it wouldn't make sense that someone as unstable as Brahms would just listen to his parents or would he? Maybe they were the only people he would listen to….but would he actually agree to disappear into the walls, be replaced by a doll… they were feeding him so they were aware of him, they knew he was there….the fire….that is where things get foggy….everything up until that point can be explained….but it all changes when the fire happens, when Bahms is forced into the walls for his protection from persecution._

Greta peers over her shoulder to find him near done and she turns to stare at him, now knowing what the face underneath looks like.

The entire right side of his face is nothing but scar tissue, never properly treated or cared for it turned a near yellow color and the damaged skin had been unable to accomodate for the rate at which he grew and so it had pulled tight. A craggy uneven surface that looks like the dried up floor of a desert spring. His neck had made it out unharmed and given he is able to grow a full beard perhaps his jaw had too. The left side of his face was untouched, revealing a handsome brow and smooth near flawless skin.

She could see, in that half of his face the man he would have become if things had been different. Handsome boy would have been an understatement though how attractive he might have been doesn't matter at all given he was a psychopath.

 _Do you know he is a psychopath for sure? How much has he done and not done for you? He fucking killed me, the cock sucker, and he gave you help when you asked him for it. He did only just threaten to kill Malcolm if you left….think about his words….his exact words…_

Greta closes her eyes to try and shake Cole's voice from her mind but she hears it anyway, _If you leave I'll kill him, I'll kill him like all the others-_

 _He gave you a choice, and look, you came back and Malcolm is still alive isn't he. This dick head must really like you, wonder what else he would do for you….if you think about it….he might do a lot for you….already killed someone for you….in a way that makes you my murderer. You asked him to-_

"Shut up!" she snaps out from between clenched teeth as she looks away from Brahms and then brings a hand to her face.

She realizes it has gone still and she slowly glances over to see Brahms watching her, his head cocked to the side, frozen mid-way between putting his suspender on.

"Oh, not you Brahms, I was talking to….myself."

 _Lier-_ she hears Cole chuckle and she takes a deep breath as she tightens her jaw and blinks her eyes a couple times, "Are you ready, Brahmsy? It's time for music appreciation."

Brahms finally breaks from his frozen state, his dead eyes remaining on her as he finishes pulling up his suspenders and then he grabs his green cardigan and holds it out to her. Greta comes to him and takes it, helping him to slide it on before she hears his little voice say softly, "Greta-"

"Yes, Brahms?"

"If Cole is still bothering you, I can help make him quiet. I can make anyone quiet."

Greta thinks on that a moment, swallowing gently before she runs her hands over his shoulders to smooth the fabric of his sweater. She moves around to his front, taking the edges and pulling it out and down before finally letting the green fabric rest.

Without thinking she brings a hand to his chest as she looks up at him and says, "Thank you, Brahms, but I will….I can...handle it myself."

She sees his head cock down further to look at her, her mouth parting slowly as she is greeted with steel gray eyes that hold a look of knowing better. He doubts her and she can't stop the feeling of indignation and it's her turn to cock her head to the side, "Don't believe me? Fine. Just you wait-" she teases in a playful voice, "I'll get the bastard out of my head before the end of the week, when I do, you get to apologize, young man." and she very gently, so as not to make him angry, pokes him in the chest, "Just watch." she says softly.

She sees his breathing intensify. Her playful attitude was meant to move Brahms closer towards trust so she could break away from him easier to search the house for a means to escape. But what she knew it also signaled to him was that she was beginning to trust him. If he thought she trusted him, he might be more apt to act upon what ever urges he had at a moments notice.

Greta looked up into his eyes and raised a hand to his cheek, "Hey, Brahms, it's okay, I didn't mean to excite you. It's alright, I was just being playful, I was teasing, calm down. Let's go listen to your music okay?"

To her immense relief his breathing decreases and he slowly nods his head.

She takes his hand and begins to lead him out towards the music room. She is starting to remember the route through the walls and only has to ask him a few times which way to go, to which the man simply points.

This confuses her though, as she knows he can speak as well as read and write. He wrote GET OUT on the walls above Cole while the man slept. He has spoken to her fluently multiple times and she remembers seeing books in his room in the walls.

"Brahms?" and she glances back over her shoulder as she leads home down one particularly long run of wall.

His eyes are locked onto her and Greta feels anxiety swarm in her gut but she knows the best way to defeat your enemy is to know them.

"Why don't you talk? Why are you so quiet-" but she stopped walking and suddenly answered her own question as she caught sight of a small hole in the plaster of the wall.

She thought about it and then turned to him before looking at the cramped space around her, "You had to be quiet, is that it? In the walls, not a noise to show you were here…"

Brahms doesn't say anything, just stares at her and Greta swallows before starting to walk again, "Maybe not, I mean, after all you did talk to your parents…. To let them know what you needed and what you wanted...you told them you chose me…"

"Pretty Greta." he suddenly says in his normal voice and she looks back at him, his eyes are drilling holes into her and her feet slowly stop, her eyes staring back into his, unable to understand how those eyes could be so cold and dead, how they could be so….

 _Awe, look at you, a wonderful little case of Stockholm Syndrome, go on, fall in love with him, I dare you….stupid slut-_

Greta instantly drops Brahms's hand and wraps arms around herself, turning away and closing her eyes, "Shut up." she whispers softly.

 _I was just joking, Stockholm Syndrome isn't real, you will be fine, promise, after all, he isn't going to rape and gut you right away, he will work up to it, scare you a few more times then torture you a bit-_

Greta drops her arms to her side and growls angrily, annoyance and frustration surging up from her gut, before she reaches back and takes Brahms hand, not making any eye contact and walking quickly the rest of the way through the walls.

They come out in her bedroom and she hurries out the door, Brahm's keeping pace behind her, something that should make her happy given he often walks extremely slow, no doubt a trait he had honed given his need to move so silently through the walls.

They reach the music room in record time and she maneuvers Brahms, taking him gently by the arm and setting him down on the couch.

She then turns and goes to the record player, turning it on and moving the needle over the black disk before dropping it on and the music blares to life. She stares at it a moment and then looks to Brahms, the man would normally be off in his own little world but at this moment his gaze is locked on her, eyes wide, almost eager.

She stares back a moment before her brow furrows and she finds herself unsure of what just happened. He looks so….ready….for something to happen….like he is waiting for something.

Greta continues to eye him wearily as she slowly turns and makes her way over to the window seat. She can't just walk off, he needs to be unaware of her departure and that isn't going to happen unless he enters into that strange trance like state he was in the other day.

The music plays on but his eyes remain on her and Greta realizes in this moment that she has been showing her agitation. No doubt Brahms has noticed and so she realizes she needs to keep it together and stop any visual signs that could excite him.

She settles into the window seat and leans back, slipping off her shoes and stretching her legs out before she gives him a soft smile and turns her head to look out the window.

She stays like this for nearly thirty minutes, trying to resist the urge to look and see if Brahms has finally been swept away by the music. About forty-five minutes later she slowly turns her head and sees that Brahms had leaned back on the couch, his entire body lax and his eyes closed.

Slowly, so as not to disturb him, she sits up and ever so gently sets her feet onto the ground. He doesn't move, not even a twitch and she knows he is gone. Getting to the door takes forever and on her way she spies how far the record has played.

It's just hitting the halfway point so she knows she will have close to another forty-five minutes before it ends.

 _Make it count._

Once she is out the door she beelines for the kitchen, having a plan on the off chance that Brahms does catch her out and about he will not think she was trying to escape. Her heart is racing, her mind starting the arduous process of running through all the places he could be keeping the key that is within thirty seconds walk of the kitchen.

 _How clever could he be? How well would he think to hide it? Or would his childish maturity have him put it somewhere simple?_

She enters the kitchen and brings a finger to her lips to keep Malcolm quiet as he jerks up to look at her. He nods his understanding and sits quietly while she runs around the kitchen preparing tea.

She gets the serving tray, the china and puts water to boil. She grabs the tea, the milk and the sugar and gets it all ready before crossing to Malcolm and kneeling before him with a glass of water.

"Jesus, Greta. What in Hell's name has been going on? I heard doors slamming and yelling and Brahm's crying, did he hurt you?"

Greta recalls the moment in the study, Brahms crying as he kissed her and made a mess in his pants. Her cheeks grew hot at the very idea of telling him, her stomach twisting in guilt and disgust but she kept herself calm as she said, "It's okay, I am okay. Brahms just threw a little fit, he didn't hurt me."

"What's going on? Did you find the key?"

"No, not yet, I am about to go looking now, but I figured a tea tray would be a good excuse if Brahms comes looking for me. Are you alright? Do you need anything?"

"Besides getting out of this chair? I can't feel my hands or my legs and honestly my back is on fire."

Greta thinks about it a moment and realizes that aside from a single bathroom break Malcolm hasn't moved from this spot and given the beating Brahms had delivered he was most likely in extreme pain.

"Alright, yes, I will see if I can get him to let you up, maybe lock you in a room instead or chain you to a bedpost-"

The look on his face makes her stop and she instantly clarifies, "No! I just mean, until I find the key….find a way to get us both out of here alive. Besides, if I can get him to agree to lock you in a room instead this chair you may be able to work on getting out of here and going for help-"

"And leave you here alone with him? Huh uh, no way-"

"It may be our only option...he cut the phone lines, Malcolm. I haven't been able to check the doors yet, but the balcony was open, he may not have thought to lock the rest either."

Malcolm seemed both worried and relieved at hearing the good and bad news.

"If I can get you into a room, and if you can find a way out, he might not even know you are gone until you show up with the police."

To this Malcolm nodded and Greta added, "But, I am not going to give up looking for the key, until I can get you moved to someplace easier, I will keep looking for that key. Greta looked at the clock on the wall and jumped, "I have to go, sit tight, I will do lunch a little early today and see if we can get you a bathroom break, alright?"

He nodded again before saying sternly, "Beee careful, I don't want to end up hearing you scream or cry, got it?"

Greta gave a soft smile, "No worries." and she gently left a kiss on his brow before standing and finishing setting up the tea tray.

She gave a single look back as she left the kitchen, Malcolm staring after her before he vanished from sight and she started to eye the hall.

Last time Brahms left for the key he had only been gone a total of thirty seconds, so fifteen seconds to the key and fifteen back. Her eyes scanned the walls, looked to the floor, noticed every table, drawer or peice of artwork it could be hid behind. She counted in her head the seconds, trying to time it just right.

She was making mental notes of where she would check when she took her "personal time." Though, she also needed to check the traps today, the time she planned to check as many doors leading outside as she could to see if Brahms had sealed any of them.

Brahms had a habit of leaving her while she slept to move around the house, something he was very good at doing, given he had not woken her once. She recalls when Cole was here and she had fell asleep with the doll next to her only to wake up with the doll gone.

 _Fourteen, fifteen._

She wasn't even halfway between the kitchen and the music room, if she was right and he had hid it close to the kitchen for easy access it had to be here, somewhere here-

Suddenly there was a loud bang and the music scratched to a halt, Greta instantly started walking, trying to keep her pace relaxed even though she had the urge to run to the door just down the hall.

Brahms skid out the door and slid to a stop, Greta's feet doing the same thing when she saw him and she forced a smile, "Brahms? What's wrong, did the music stop?"

She sees his shoulders hunch, his hands fist at his sides and those dark eyes glare at her from behind the mask.

She has to act as if what she is doing isn't wrong, she is in charge, assuming he still wants to play his little game of Greta the Caregiver.

She starts walking again, as she comes to stand before him he leans his face close to hers, those eyes stormy and filled with a rabid yet dead stare. She sees how heavy he is breathing, possibly from the panic at coming out of his daze to find her gone.

She scoots up onto her tip toes and gently rubs her nose back and forth against his porcelain one and she hears a soft growl in his throat, "Don't be such a baby, you're a big boy and can handle a few minutes alone. I just wanted to make us some tea before I go to clean the traps. Then I will make lunch, alright?" and she scoots on before he even has a chance to act against her.

She returns to the room and sets the tray down on the table, glancing to see him standing like a stone sentinel in the door. She can feel his anger, see it in his tense form, the way his eyes are staring unblinking and intense. His fists clench tighter and she realizes she has to find a way to de escalate the situation.

"Brahms?" and she slowly approaches him, her heart beating like a bird's wings against her rib cage. Still, she tries to keep the fear out of her eyes, tries to control the anxiety and dread building in her stomach.

What he is thinking right now is beyond her, but as of yet, aside from throwing her against the wall and choking her out, he had not actively tried to beat her or punish her in anyway. She has to trust that there is still enough boundary for him to see, that while he is technically an adult he shows himself as a child, and children do not punish adults.

She comes to stand behind her and gingerly raises a hand up to touch his chest gently, "What is it? Are you alright? I didn't go far, just to make tea, we can have a nice little-" but her voice fades and she doesn't say anything else because she is looking onto this eyes and she sees such a rage it nearly makes her heart stop.

Instinctively she takes a step back, watches as his head cocks to the side slowly, his shoulders hunching more and then suddenly he charges. She stumbles back but doesn't ever make contact with the floor.

Brahms has wrapped his arms around her, his hold ungodly tight and she lets out a gasp as he jerks her over to the couch as she kicks and thrashes against him.

She hears him grunting, hears his normal voice take over as he hisses for her to be quiet.

"Greta! Stop it! Hold still you little-" and then he yells painfully loud in her ear, "BE STILL!" and Greta freezes, her heart pounding, chest heaving and body tense as a board.

"You don't leave me, unless I say! You aren't to leave me! You stay with me forever! You….you...you stay…." the first half was yelled out with authority, with certainty and conviction and determination.

However, his words suddenly come slower and then a mix between a high pitched whine and squeal, almost the same as when she stabbed him with the screwdriver.

"Please stay-" he cries out softly, "Please don't leave me alone, I don't like being alone, I like you Pretty Greta, I want you to stay with me always. To share my secrets. Please, please don't go away, don't leave me alone-" and he continues on like this for several minutes, repeating himself over and over.

Tears do not fall but she can hear the lament in his voice and for just a moment, for one brief millisecond, her heart softens and she wraps her arms around his head and pulls him down to her chest, "I won't leave Brahms, I told you I wouldn't and I won't."

 _Lier._

His arms tighten around her as he presses the hard mask into her chest, essentially clinging to her like a baby, as he continues to let out strange and bizzare sounds.

 _Congratulations Greta, this just got a whole lot harder._

 **A/N: I'm going full blown insane here, people! Brahms is one fruity fruitloop in this. Read and Review and let me know what you thought.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Only light editing in this chapter, lots of development, not to mention a battle of wits and manipulation between our three characters.**

 **WARNINGS: SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE, BAD LANGUAGE, THREATS, MANIPULATION, SEXUAL MANIPULATION, PSYCHOSIS, IF ANY OF THIS BOTHERS YOU DO NOT READ!**

 **Chapter Four**

 **I Pray the Lord my Soul to Take**

It has been an hour since he grabbed her and they had come to rest on the couch. The tea was not doubt cold by now, though Brahms had calmed down considerably. His head was still pressed between her breasts, arms wrapped around her waist and her legs still laying out across his lap.

Greta had also calmed, growing warm from being so close to him and for awhile she had slipped into an uneasy sleep. Her eyes popping open everytime Brams shifted in the slightest. She was losing feeling in her backside and the edge of Brahm's mask was digging into her chest.

Things ran through her mind as they lay there, dozing in and out of consciousness. Things like how soon was too soon to try and sit up or move away. What was next on the list and how was she ever going to find the key to release Malcolm and would it be possible to talk Brahms into moving the man into a room...preferably one with a bathroom.

Maybe she should try to….butter him up?

She leaves her eyes closed and slowly raised a hand to run through Brahms unruly hair. The man shutters against her and his hands slide from underneath her gently hold on either side of her waist.

"Brahms?" She asks softly, her fingers still moving gently through his hair, another hand coming to gently run down through his chest hair and under his beater.

"Oh, Pretty Greta-" he whispers out and his hands slowly slide under her shirt and up towards her ribs.

Greta swallows but remains calm, keeps her body relaxed as she knows he would try and touch her in return.

"I want to speak to you about something, but I need you to try and stay calm alright? We are just going to talk about something important, pertaining to our friend Malcolm, alright?" and she gently drags nails across his scalp and slowly massaged his chest, the hair now soft and curly given he has been cleaned.

Brahms sighs out an, "Okay, Pretty Greta." before his hands press up just a bit further, coming to rest just under her bra line. Still, she doesn't stop him, doesn't pull away. His hands gently run down her sides again and then back up and she hears his breath grow shaky.

 _Alright, he is in a state of bliss, be careful how you ask him, ease into it._

"Our friend Malcolm, he can't stay seated in the chair in the kitchen forever, and he needs to be able to sleep and use the restroom as he needs. So, I am going to move him to a bedroom, one that has a working bathroom in it, where he can sleep."

Brahms stills his hands at this, his masked face finally removing itself from her chest and those cold eyes finding hers.

She stares into those steel gray eyes and says softly but with authority, "Brahms, you need to understand, I am not trying to help him escape, but I want to help him be comfortable. If he is our friend, we can't just leave him tied to a chair. If you don't want to let him go and I would do anything to keep you from….hurting….him….maybe removing him from the kitchen….putting in a room that we can lock...a bathroom he can use, then all we need to do is bring him food and check on his occasionally-"

 _Go in for the kill…_

"It would also give us more privacy, Brahms, more time for just you and me...alone." and she reaches the hand under his beater further down and runs a finger along the edge of his pants.

Brahms lets out another shutter and suddenly his hands grip into her sides and she jerks, "Brahms!" She gasps and the man shifts instantly, moving to lay on top of her hips pressing her legs aside and Greta doesn't fight him but she doesn't make it easy, "Brahms, stay calm, no, just wait-" and the man stills though brings up a hand and removes his mask, the half burned face that greets her makes her swallow.

He leans in and presses his lips to her throat and Greta, despite herself, gasps at the sudden contact to the tender skin of her neck.

"Brahms-" she whispers and he groans, "Pretty Greta, we can trade." he says against the skin of her throat, another kiss pressing to her flesh and Greta feels her heart speed up.

 _He is going to agree, just keep it together long enough to-_

"I want to make a mess." Brahms says and Greta feels her stomach twist in anxiety but she had a feeling she knew what he would want in exchange for Malcolm's quasi freedom.

"Now?" she asks, as she feels his hips press into her gently and Brahms suddenly moved from her neck to her jaw, kisses still moving along towards her lips.

"No, every night….before bed….I want to make a mess...with you….in return...Malcolm can have his own room." it's the young man talking now, with that clean British accent, though it's heavy with want and desire.

"One mess for each night he has a room." and his lips move to hers, brushing against them but not kissing and Greta is panting, fear running through her at the very idea. He is essentially charging Malcolm rent, the payment for his stay is Greta letting him make a mess, something they had agreed to already, one mess a day if Brahms was a good boy, though now, it removes the man's need to behave and guarantees him what he wants.

 _Clever man, he knows you won't refuse him because he knows you care about Malcolm, thinks he won't be able to escape any easier while locked in a room, verse chained to a chair. He is pressing you into a corner, making sure he gets from you what he wants while still allowing you your little indulgences. So, who is really the trickster in this new found relationship-_

Greta clenches her eyes and swallows, presses Cole's voice away and says quietly, "A-Alright Brahms, in exchange for giving Malcolm a room...you can….we can…." but she can't bring herself to say it.

"Deal." the man above breaths before he presses his lips to hers and invades her mouth with his tongue, Greta instinctively pressing against his chest but Brahms holds her to him and takes what he wants from her. Kissing her deeply and pulling her closer, his length pressing against her as he fingers dig into her back.

She half expects him to make a mess right then and there by the sound of the noises he is making but to her surprise when he ends the kiss and returns the mask to his face he pulls up from her and cocks his head to the side.

"Would you like to move him now, Pretty Greta?" the child asks and as she lays there, legs splayed open and heart pounding against her ribs, cheeks red, stomach feeling sick and limbs shaky all she can do is nod.

 _It will be worth it won't it? This opportunity could be all you and Malcolm need find a way out. But you best be careful, once a stupid whore, always a stupid whore, better keep your walls built high or he could sweep you off your feed and drag you down into his madness….easy to stay where you are when you have nothing waiting for you someplace else… imagine the disappointment in your mother's eyes….the closest thing to sex you have had since me…..with a psychopathic man-child….thing is….you know how good crazy people can be in bed….you fucked me all the time….loved it….one of the reasons you stayed-_

"Shut up, I'm not so shallow as to-"

 _Ain't ya? Yeah, pretty sure you are, had nothing else in your life worthwhile but amazing sex with the beast who beat your ass…..talk about crazy bitches…_

"Stop it."

"Greta-"

"Cole, enough!" Greta says only to realize that she had just shouted at Cole but it was Brahms who had spoke her name. She stares up at him, the man's head cocked harshly to the side before he seems to lean in closer.

"Pretty Greta, will you let me help you? I can-"

"Quiet the voices, I know Brahms. Thank you, but I will be fine. Come on, let's go move Malcolm."

She stands up and wraps her arms around herself, feeling the dread settle in her stomach, knowing she is getting into deeper and far more dangerous waters. Still, she feels like she is making progress towards her goal of escape.

She only hopes Malcolm will be able to rest and regain his strength over the next day or two and then find a way out, even if he has to bust open a window and climb down the side of the house. She feels Brahms fall in line behind her and Greta leaves the room and makes her way towards the kitchen. Hopes for escape on the edges of her mind, though she won't be taken up in it yet, they still have a long way to go.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Greta enters the kitchen with Brahms right behind, though he seems to stray off towards the sink and she sees why seconds later when the man draws out the knife he had placed there earlier.

Malcolm had looked up at their entry but had remained quiet, his face pale and his body shaking from the strain of being bound in the same spot for so long with few breaks.

"Malcolm, Brahms and I….would like to offer you a room, one with it's own bathroom for you to stay in as our guest for awhile." Greta says, playing the part of gracious host and Malcolm smirks, "That w-would be lovely...thank you Brahms, Greta, for the kind offer."

Greta nods and then looks to Brahms, "Sweetie, do you have the key?" Brahms nods his head slowly and from the pocket of his green sweater pulls the key.

He moves forward as Greta feels her jaw drop, Malcolm also looking rather shocked by the turn of events.

 _Well what do you know, not so crazy after all, led you to believe he had hid it somewhere only to find he had it on him the whole time...fifteen seconds out, fifteen seconds back...where could he hid it in that time in a hall that was mostly empty? Hm? Looks like old Brahmsy got one by you, I think I am starting to like this guy._

Greta kicks herself mentally for being so utterly stupid those when she catches Malcolm's eye he gives a look that says she isn't alone in her self-abuse.

She sighs and moves forward, watching as Brahms draws the blunt side of the blade across Malcolm's neck and says, "Behave." Malcolm nods but says nothing and Brahms goes about unlocking the man's restraints.

Greta stands by, her fingers itching to go for the knife as soon as Malcolm is free but one look at the man and how utterly exhausted and sickly he looks stills her thrumming heart and calms her mind. It can't be done, not right now, he is too weak, he would be dead weight against her and only slow her down.

No, Malcolm needs time to recover, they need to make a plan. It will be harder to communicate with him once he is locked up, especially if Brahms elects to give the man food instead of allowing Greta to do it. But right now is not the time to try to run.

This leads Greta down the undesired path of needing to get even closer to Brahms, speed up the process of regaining his trust. She is going to have to do things that she may find disturbing, but the options are growing slimmer each day and while she knows she will have to essentially suck it up she realizes she also wants to go into her room and pout at the prospect.

 _Now who's the child?_

When Malcolm is freed he stands slowly but his knees give and Greta makes to rush forward but Brahms manages to grab the man and stabilize him, throwing one of Malcolm's arms over his shoulder, the knife coming up to rest against his throat.

"You will walk, friend Malcolm?" Brahms asks and Malcolm nods.

"Greta, wait here." Brahms says and the woman nods reluctantly before she steps aside and Brahms moves forward and out of the kitchen, slow even steps as Malcolm hobbles along behind him, leaning on the man next to him.

Greta can do nothing but wait, hoping she will be able to find the right room and communicate with Malcolm sooner rather than later.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Malcolm has never felt so weak in his life. He thinks it has to do with the fact he had been beaten and then tied to a chair with minor blood flow to his extremities, the fact he gets three meals a day but those meals are spread far apart and are rather small servings.

Everything is stiff, his head is one fire, his organs feel tired and he is dizzy. He needs to sleep, eat more, bath and allow his body time to heal so both he and Greta can have a better chance at escaping.

He had not expected Brahms to be his escort to his room, having hoped the man would allow Greta to come with and spy his new rooms. Still, it wouldn't be that hard for Greta to find him, and hopefully when she did she would have a plan.

Malcolm had never felt more relieved when Greta told him he would be moved to a room, like a dream come true. Still, he wondered how she had managed it.

Their progress slowed when they got to the stairs, the effort of moving up them exhausting, his legs and backside cramping as bloody started to move more freely and he stumbled once, Brahms letting him go.

Malcolm caught himself before his face could collide with the edge of a stair and took a few deep breaths, the sudden jolt of falling having surprised him.

"Sorry, Malcolm." Came that child like voice that was starting to grate on his nerves. He shook his head and then slowly pushed himself up, "I think...I think I can go the rest of the way on my own." and he stood, reaching a hand for the railing.

It wasn't often one was forced to travel up stairs at knife point, but given how weak he was Malcolm was grateful that Brahms seemed to be in little to no hurry. He allowed Malcom all the time he needed to wobble on shaky legs up the rest of the way, Malcolm finally feeling steady enough to make it himself.

"By the way Brahms, I suppose I should thank you, for not killing me the other day. I appreciate it." Malcolm said, though while he ached to add the sarcasm he felt he kept his voice friendly but relaxed.

"You are my friend. You bring mummy and daddy things, are nice to me." Brahms says, the child's voice being soft and gentle as he gives Malcolm a wide berth on the steps, the man wondering if Brahms is waiting for him to fall backwards.

"You're my friend too, but if I may say so, you haven't been too friendly as of late."

"You tried to take Pretty Greta." Brahms countered.

"Yeah, that's true. But given you killed a man...and attacked me...tried to drag Greta off-"

"I was taking her away from HIM. That bad man, who is in her head, who still says nasty things to her…."

Malcolm digests that and wonders just what he must be missing when Greta and Brahms leave the room. What mind game is Greta playing with this man, how is this type of manipulation going to help their escape.

"I understand, I shouldn't have been so quick to judge your intentions towards her. You did after all save her from Cole. However, given you and I don't always get on, I can't help but wonder, how Greta got you to agree to this? Giving me my own room, that is."

They have reached the top of the stairs and Malcolm looks to Brahms for which way he should go and the man points down the hall to his right and so Malcolm complies. Walking the length of hall until he reaches the end.

He grabs the handle of the door to his left and presses it open. He is greeted by a very plain but clean room. Only a twin bed, dresser and desk in view. Honestly, it looked more like a storage space but he saw a door off to the left side and guest the bathroom was in there.

Slowly he walks in and heads that door, opening and finding a toilet and standing shower only. The space is very small and Malcolm realizes this room was the equivalent of servant quarters. Rather fitting considering he was the grocery man.

"Thank you Brahms, this will do fine-" but he jumps when he turns to find the man right behind him, the shot of adrenaline hitting him hard and he slides down the wall as his legs give out.

Brahms slowly crouches down before him, the butchers knife suddenly slamming down between his legs and Malcolm jumps again, pressing himself further against the wall.

"Brahms, wait-"

"Listen closely, Greta is no longer your concern, she is _mine_ to love and care for." Malcolm hears the man's true voice in full for the very first time and he swallows at how strange is it. A young man's voice, it seems to hold a tone of authority that Malcolm finds reminds him all too well of his own father. Yet, there is an aggravated excitement as if he is trying very hard to control himself.

Malcolm swallows as Brahms leans even closer, "Mine. To love and care for. You are just an annoyance, a fly in the ointment, I don't like you...because you like her….want her...covet her….I've seen the way you look at her….saw you that night...touching her."

Dread fills his stomach, his heart pounding violently in his chest and his mind scrambles for any reason to stay Brahms's hand, "Look, I didn't know that you were real, I thought...thought you were just a ghost...a spirit… I didn't realize-"

"Shut up!" The man spits, a strangled order as he yanks the knife from the floor and pressing the tip towards Malcolm's throat, "Just because I don't like you, doesn't mean you aren't my friend. If you behave, follow the rules, I won't have to punish you. You make my Pretty Greta happy, what she wants she gets. In return….she gives me what I want, so consider yourself spared...for now."

Malcolm's eyes sharpen and he swallows before he calms his shaking body and meets those dead eyes hidden in the shadows of the masks eye holes, "And what do you _want_ from Greta?"

Brahms presses the sharp edge of the knife under Malcolm's jaw and he has to press up from the floor to keep it from slicing his skin, "I want everything, every inch of her, mind, body and soul. And I will have her. She is MINE!"

Malcolm feels anger flare and he leans into the knife, risking a cut to glare into those dead soulless eyes, "Possessive, aggressive, dominating, abusive! You think Greta will ever want _you!_ You are _everything_ she hates! Everything she fears, you're no better than Cole. She ran from him, she will run from you...or she will die trying!"

Brahms growls angrily and presses the knife against his throat harder forcing Malcolm's head back to thump against the wall.

"You're just a spoiled child, filled with hate and mentally unbalanced! Greta won't find anything she wants in _you."_

Brahms stares at him for a long moment and then Malcolm hears the giggle of a child seep out from behind the mask and his eyes grow wide as a shiver runs down his spine, "Silly Malcolm, I am everything Greta wants. The child she lost, the man who can protect her...shield her from her traumas, help her quiet the voices in her head that call her nasty things….I am her salvation. You're just a toy that she will tire of, eventually forgotten in the corner….doing nothing but collecting dust."

Brahms suddenly stands, leaving the man on the floor as he turns to leave, slamming the door behind him before Malcolm hears the click of a lock and he lets out a long slow breath.

The words the man said running through his mind, thoughts and feelings at what lay in store for them both if they did not escape. He needs to rest, bolster his strength, then he needs to get them the hell out of here, before Brahms manages to get into Greta's head.

Though Malcolm does not doubt Greta's intelligence, her ability to overcome and outsmart the raging man child, he knows that Brahms is not going to let up, or give the woman time to breath and regroup. He will bombard her with his wants, give her just enough to make her happy, just like Cole did, just like an abuser does….and then...when Greta was at her weakest, he would strike...pull her in…."save her" from herself and Greta's mindset would slowly start to change. That's how it worked and the woman had already warned him to keep her from repeating the same mistakes she had made before.

Already warned him she felt like she might be falling into the same traps she had known before. Malcolm had to find a way to keep the woman grounded in reality, to keep her sane...to keep her….Greta. The Greta he cared for, the Greta he….loved….

"Shit." he mutters before he takes a breath and stands on shaky legs, moving to the bed and flopping down.

Sleep first, get better, than save Greta….but just as he is about to pass out his head jerks up and he looks around the room in shock as he realizes and murmures, "No window."

 **PAGE BREAK**

Greta waited in the kitchen for what felt like hours, though she knew it was more than likely no more than twenty minutes at best.

She had paced at first and then elected to start lunch, keeping it simple by just making sandwiches. Her hands shook nervously and her mind reeled. She realized only to late that she had put all the cheese on one sandwich and all the turkey on another.

She was about to give up and rush to the stairs when she heard a call, "Greta?" it was the call of a child and she turned to see Brahms standing in the kitchen doorway.

"Brahms!" and she rushes to him, eyes scanning him for blood or any wounds, hoping that the man before her just deposited Malcolm in his new room and left.

"Did it go alright? Were there any...problems?" Greta asked, spying the knife in the man's hand and thanking God it didn't have any blood on it.

"Is it time for lunch, Pretty Greta?" the man asks, his little voice seemingly holding a smile in it and Greta stared up at the mask before her with suspicious worry. Slowly, she nods, gently tells the man to put the knife away and sit down.

Brahms complies and then waits quietly for his lunch to be served. It's odd, the fact that he is seemingly so happy and content right now. She hears him humming ever so softly on and off, a glitchy sounding rhythm, almost like the melody is half formed, like there is a disconnect between his brain and his vocal cords.

When she turns to approach the table she nearly drops the plates at the sight of Brahms sitting maskless and staring straight at her.

His eyes are hard and intense, like he is hypnotized, his focused eyes nearly feeling like they are burning her.

There is a certain amount of something raw, open…..something…..

Greta swallows and slowly continues her walk to the table where she sets a plate in front of Brahms and one in front of herself as she sits.

Suddenly Brahms reaches out a hand and takes hers, Greta flinching as he brings her hand to his face, Greta having to stand a little and lean forward.

"Pretty Greta, he murmurs without breaking eye contact and his pressed his lips to the palm of her hand and continues to stare.

Greta is confused to say the least, she stares back into those silver eyes and tries to figure out what has changed. Is it because Malcolm is no longer here? They are finally alone, Greta unable to reach him, did Malcolm say something to Brahms….Brahms to Malcolm….

Suddenly, the idea that this has been a long term goal of Brahms's all along hit her and Greta's body stilled, her brow furrowing as she glanced over at the empty chair still sitting in the same spot it had been since this all started.

"Pretty Greta-" and she looked back at him, her heart hammering, Brahms moving her hand down to run through his beard and she naturally curled her fingers into it, her nails gently stroking the skin underneath.

Brahms shutters and despite the beard she sees his jaw clench, eyes harden even more and he slowly leans towards her.

Greta doesn't say anything, she is stuck on those eyes, desperate to read them, to understand what has just happened. It feels like the man is somehow pleased with this turn of events even though his face shows nothing of the sort.

"Greta-" he groans out softly, just barely above a whisper and then his presses his lips to hers and Greta is to stunned to pull away or tell him now. It's not even about enjoying it or submitting him in this moment.

The feeling of realization and dread fill her stomach and she just doesn't move, don't return the soft press of lips, doesn't do anything but remain frozen, halfway over the table.

It isn't until Greta feel his free hand touch her through and then slide down to gently cup a breast that she finally comes out of her thought filled daze and jerks back.

"Brahms!" She starts with authority and he jerks back a little, those eyes staring at her, the heat and focus gone, those silver eyes now focusing in a much more clear and curious way though his face remains neutral.

"It's time for lunch." she says sternly before pulling at her hand and to her surprise he lets go, Greta staring wide down at her wrist before glancing to his hand, now dropping to his side and then back to his eyes.

"Alright, Greta." and slowly he sits, face still neutral, no sign of being angry or aggressive and she is taken aback by this sudden change.

Once again she eyes Malcolm's empty chair and then looks down, _No Malcolm, no agitation. No one to view her rejection but him, no humility….maybe he thinks…..patiences will benefit him….maybe he thinks…._

"Greta." the child like voice calls and she whips her head to look at him, "Eat." and she sees the barest trace of a real smile and her heart thumps at it. Seeing the crinkles in the corner of his good eye, the rare turn up his hidden lips upwards and she is shocked at how…...normal….handsome….safe….he looks.

She instantly drops into her chair and stares at him and Brahms cocks his head a little, seemingly in thought before his smile slowly widdens and Greta is greeted with a face….no….a mask….it's a new mask…..for even though a smiling Brahms is very pleasant and soothing to look at….those eyes remain dead and cold…

Goosebumps ignite over her body, and a conflicting fearful cold and arousing heat swirl like a chaotic dance in her stomach.

 _Well look at that you stupid bitch….Mr. Master Manipulator just took your knight and Bishop. All in one lovely swoop…..you're losing babe. Better start mentally preparing for what the future has in store for you….cause it seems this unstable man child….is an expert at chess._

Greta continues to stare at the man, even as his smile grows wider and he slowly picks up the sandwich, brings it to his lips and takes an even and precise bite. Those cold silver eyes still staring into her own and Greta thinks that perhaps she is out of her depth…

 _You're so fucked._

 **PAGE BREAK**

After lunch Greta had managed, despite the voices in her head and her sudden realization that her best intentions may have just sealed her fate, to break from the strange spell she had been under. Telling the voices mentally to shut up and leave her the Hell alone.

Greta knew the next thing on the list was to try and shake Brahms's beard. So, despite her fears, despite everything, she took the man's hand and lead up upstairs to the bathroom where she had left Mr. Heelshire's spare buzzer and prepared to try and get it done.

She had the thing plugged in, Brahms sitting on the toilet quietly. However, she sighed when as she turned it on Brahms jumped up and moved away. He didn't leave the room but he did stand nearest the door as he could.

Greta stared at him and then down at the buzzer and finally, a useful thought came to her, something her mother had once told her.

 _Oh, my girl, children are afraid of such silly things. Morgan just hasn't ever had his hair cut before, it's no wonder he threw a fit. Your sister would have done better by allowing the barber to cut her own hair first._

 _What?_

 _Well, how was Morgan to know any better. All his life he hears that scissors are dangerous, suddenly a stranger wants to put them next to his head…. Morgan hasn't yet learned that just because something can be dangerous doesn't mean it can't also be useful if used properly. You were the same, I had to show you everything before you'd give it a try. Timid….always have been so timid._

Greta smiles a little and looks up at Brahms, "Hey, my sweet boy, come here, I want to show you something. Brahms? Please, will you come here? I want to show you… here...see?" And Greta runs the buzzer down her arm, cutting a small strip of hair away.

Brahms cocks his head to the side and then slowly approaches, looking down and then fully leaning over her arm, taking it up and twisting it to see the small patch of missing hair.

Greta raises the buzzer and Brahms watches, sees her trim a full strip of the wispy hair off her arm. 

Brahms reaches out a finger and runs it down the freshly buzzed skin and to Greta's surprise a child's giggle escapes him.

She smiles back at the realization that it worked before the words flow through her head as she sees the small hidden smile on Brahms's lips.

 _Just because something can be dangerous doesn't mean it can't also be useful if used properly._

She looks up to see his amused eyes, yes, amused, there is life in them for just a split second, a shred of humanity, of a playful happiness just barely alight behind the coldness. The shadows of a smile getting just a millimeter bigger as he runs a finger down her arm again before bringing his lips to the smooth strip of skin and placing a gentle kiss.

It is the day for Greta to feel that confliction continue to rise inside her. Monster, man, demon, child….thing...it….unknown...yet….completely explainable.

Suddenly Brahms walks to the toilet and sits with what Greta can only describe as muted excitement and he bounces a little as his hands grip on either side of the seat.

She approaches slowly and raises the buzzer to his face, swallowing before saying, "It will feel strange because it is buzzing, but don't worry, this won't hurt at all….then I will show you how to….shave, alright, Brahms?"

The man nods once and then Greta leans down and gently takes up his chin with her free hand and starts buzzing.

Slowly, over the next ten minutes a face starts to emerge. There is a wide jaw connecting to a sharp cleft chin, thin yet attractive lips and the tip of his nose becomes more defined. The burn continues down on the right side to just above the edge of his lip. But, the entire left side has been spared the flames wicked kiss and in this moment, as the rest of beard falls away she sees the charming and handsome face of the man Brahms could have become.

Suddenly, the eyes match with the face they have been placed in and Greta wonders how many masks could this man possibly have. His cheek bones are necessarily high, but they are defined and when she stands Brahms looks up at her and gives the most gentle of smiles and the buzzer drops from her hand.

She just stares, can't fathom…..lost...lost for words because….she should have left the beard alone….it's much easier to refuse someone who is not physically attractive.

Physiologically speaking humans are attracted to those who are attractive, as cruel and shallow as it can be for those not gifted with looks, it is a fact….healthy, youthful, people that remind us of our fathers or mothers, people who will attract other people...so that we won't be alone…. Personality was important….more important in Greta's mind….but….that face….even half burned….was a dangerous thing.

She hadn't realized until her fingers were brushing over his brow, turning knuckles over to run down his cheek before cupping his chin and running a thumb across his lips….

They part against the pad of her thumb and Brahm's eyes grow the slightest bit hazey as he whispers out, "Greta-"

Her own lips part in terror at seeing those thin lips move in time with his voice, feel the heat of his breath against her thumb...still….she stares.

Slowly Brahms reaches up a hand, so gently taking her wrist before standing carefully, their eyes still locked and he looks down at her when he is fully up right, taking the finally step into her space, brown curls running over his scarred forehead before he whispers again, "Greta, please….kiss." it's a desperate sound, his plea, and all Greta can do is give the most vague of nods.

She watches the man's tongue slowly lick his lips before he leans in and this time Greta does respond, although it's the shortest of moments. His lips touch hers and he moans then slide a tongue across her lips and she goes to pull away and he whines, "No." softly before he presses her back gently and then pins her to the wall next to the toilet.

"No, kiss, Greta, kiss, please-" he whispers and then he takes up her lips again. Greta goes to look away but Brahms perseus and catches her lips again. She goes to look the other way and Greta hears the faint chuckle of amusement.

Before his hands slide up her face and hold her still, his lips gently sucking and kissing, tongue running over her own before lapping deeply into her mouth. He works her over, has his way, gets this monstrous kiss he has been craving for so long. Greta at his mercy for fear that mild hint of good humour would not last should she shove him away or yell at him in this moment.

He seems to be completely unaware of how much times passes, how much he is just experimenting and experiencing kissing her. She can't imagine what is going through his mind, because her own is a turbulent and bloody battle of wills.

It's a fight between her logic; allowing him what he wants to keep him from getting angry or excited while keeping her head in the clear in regards to not getting swept away.

Greta did not love this man, she would be lying if she said there wasn't a latent attraction, mostly because she had been in this position before with Cole, unwanted attentions, but also because the man _was_ physically attractive.

There was a certain level of animalistic quality and brute strength that intrigued her, her own instincts tell her he would be a healthy and protective mate. However, those instincts, which had been tamed down over millennia of evolution, were still under the foot of her common sense.

Greta's common sense dictated that yes, he was attractive, yes he was unrealistically strong, but he was also crazy and that was _not_ good in a mate.

Her logic was pushing her hard, keeping her grounded, not letting her get carried away despite the dull ache starting between her legs.

 _You're body will learn to adjust and accommodate, to be ready for an assault...to be impregnated….it isn't love….it isn't desire….it is survival, do not be fooled by the hormones, they are just doing what they are programmed to do and prepare you. Do not confuse how your body responds with how you actually feel about this man._

Greta feels disgust, fear and anger but still she does nothing as his lips slide from her own and she closes her eyes as his mouth drops to her throat and he latches on. His hands pressing her face up towards the ceiling and then suddenly she feels teeth and her hands press against his chest hard.

"No, Brahms, no! That's a naughty boy!" She had meant it as a negative, but thanks to their earlier conversations the term "naughty" meant something very different to Brahms.

He hummed hungrily and pressed his body completely against her, her arms becoming pinned between her own body and his chest and he bites a little harder before starting to suck.

 _He's marking you! Don't let him mark you, don't let him claim you!_ A voice sounding suspiciously like Malcolm's screams in her head.

She hears his breath coming in massive pants through his nose, his grip on her face tightening and he sucks harder, teeth clamp just a little more firmly and she starts to fight in earnest. She knows better as struggling just excites him, but the fear of bearing his mark on her throat makes her want to fight.

His hands leave her face and wrap around her, her legs kicking but her arms still pinned and useless and she tries to yank her neck back and away but his head just moves with her jerky motions.

"Stop! Brahms! Bad boy! Wicked boy! Stop this right now!" She orders with a near shriek and finally he releases her skin and then hoisted her up, her feet leaving the ground as he gives her a bear hug and then moves backwards.

He sits on the lid of the toilet, one arm wrapping fully around her back to keep her pinned while the other hand jerks to her legs and manages to press one aside and he sets her on his lap, legs straddaling him, her toes grazing the floor before his hand slides around to cup her ass and pull her closer.

She feels his length yells out in utter anger, "NO! Brahms, bad boy!" A hand comes into her hair and grips it firmly, yanking her head to the side and exposing the flesh he had just been sucking on.

Greta is breathing heavy, her heart once again pounding as tears lace her eyes, though they are tears of anger not fear and she grits her teeth, "I swear, if you left a mark, young man-" she bites out though she is cut off when she feels his lips brush over the nore achingly sore spot.

She stills instantly, goosebumps erupting over her flesh and a chill running up her spine as she hears him whisper into the area where the back of her jaw meets her neck, "It's so pretty Greta, pretty like you. Do you want to know the color?" its the voice of the young man, all shuttering and filled with lusty admiration, "I most certainly do not! You wicked naughty nasty boy!"

Those words should have incensed him, made him angry but she just hears the most evil of chuckles which fades out to the giggle of a child and something inside Greta snaps.

 _This is insane, we aren't animals, there is no saving him, no saving the boy, no saving the man….he is an animal, driven by instincts and desires, no logic, no rational-_

"Pretty Greta, may I make another?" the child asks.

"No you may not! BAD BRAHMS! STOP! I SAID NO! YOU LISTEN TO ME!"

The chuckle hits her ears and then his lips slide down her neck to the area between her collarbone and throat.

 _I am not an animal...I am not….I'm not….I'm… not-_

This time he suckles gently, tongue lapping at that tender spot, her weak spot, the spot that always makes her melt, makes her relax.

She tried to resist it, tears run down her face as she clenches teeth but after a moment her body sags against him and she lets out a frustrated and yet wanting and faint moan.

She feels Brahms go still for just a moment before he runs an experimental and tentative lick over that spot. Greta pants and then whine, "No, not there...Brahms, stop-" but it's breathy now, the nager gone and Greta imagines herself in her mind's eye smacking her own face angrily in humiliation and disappointment.

Everyone has a spot, a wicked secret spot that just soothes them, can win them over if it's given proper care…..

 _Do not confuse your bodies reaction with your feelings for him, not an animal….just a survivalist….Just because something can be dangerous doesn't mean it can't also be useful if used properly…._

 _Used properly….._

"Used…...properly-" she gasps out as Brahms suddenly focuses his mouth on that delicate little spot.

"Soft-" she says before she can stop herself and to her surprise Brahms complies instantly. Gently suckling and licking, a tender nip and kissing lips and Greta realizes that yes, Brahms is dangerous, he is insane and cannot be saved from it.

But she also realizes that, perhaps, despite the dangers, she has not been using him properly….more like….not utilizing his own wants against him properly.

She tries something else, "Hold my hips." she whispers and his hands instantly release the vice like grip that has been holding her in place and grip onto her hips. Her arms are suddenly free, but instead of shoving away from him she runs her hands up his neck and into his hair, gripping curls and moaning, "Lick."

Brahms doesn't hesitate and he does nothing else but lick at the spot, no more kissing, no more nipping, just licking it slowly, tenderly like a piece of braised meat.

"Oh my god-" she moans, but even though this causes Brahms's hold on her hips to tighten, it is only partially impart do to his ministrations. A smile slides across her lips and a clever glint lights up her eyes, "Brahms, my good little naughty boy, will you do something for _your_ Pretty Greta?"

"Anything." he whispers against the now tenderized spot.

"Will you kiss my feet?" and he pulls back from her, stares a moment before suddenly standing and turning, letting Greta sit on the lid in his place before kneeling on the ground before her and removing her left shoe and sock, taking her by the ankle and raising her foot to his lips.

He kisses up the foot and then on either side of the ankle, each toe, her heel and Greta laughs in delight. She pulls her foot away and stands, her brain suddenly shooting far away from victim and towards perpetrator.

Brahms stays kneeling on the ground and Greta smiles at him fondly, "My good sweet naughty little boy. Tell me, Brahms, are you itchy?" and Brahms cocks his head to the side and seems to think a moment before nodding.

"It's from the trim I just gave you, come on, we can take care of that."

 _This is the test, the true test Greta, you are prepared either way, but if this man is all instincts and animal, you need to know how strong your hold is. He is dangerous, but can be very useful if utilized properly._

Greta walks over to the shower and pulls the curtain before turning on the shower and getting it nice and hot. She then turns to look at Brahms and holds out her hand to him. Slowly, he stands and crosses to her, instantly lacing their fingers together and Greta leans in, "Now, be a good boy, Brahmsy, and help Pretty Greta…..undress."

She watches as his breathing speeds up, his eyes focusing on her hard, unblinking at they dilate. Still, she sees him stiffen as he raises shaky hands and pulls at the zipper of her jacket. He stops halfway down and then turns away from her, goes to the sink and puts his mask firmly in place before returning and taking the zipper again.

 _He's hiding from me now, is it discomfort or excitement, what is he trying to hide from me?_

 _Brahms is a painfully shy child-_ she hears Mrs. Heelshire say in the back of her mind and Greta simply smiles up at the mask, realizing he is being nothing but predictable.

 _Children are predictable-_ her mother's voice says.

 _You get anymore bitches up in your head and I am going to beat the fuck out of you-_ Cole yells.

Greta's smile fades a little but still she looks up into those silver eyes, so focused, borderline frantic and his hands press her jacket off her shoulders and Greta raises her arms.

She feels the tips of his fingers roll against her skin as he takes the bottom of her t-shirt and pulls it up and over her head. He is near panting now, hands shaking even more as those fingers brush the edge of her pants and undo the button, press down the zipper before palms slide around her hips and them push the pants down.

He is near gasping now, a strange strangled whine joining the gasps every few seconds and then he is taking off her remaining shoe and sock, pulling her legs out of her pants and then she stands before him in nothing but her under things.

His hands sliding up the back of her calves, the side of her thighs, over her hips and come to rest on her waist as he stands.

"P-Pretty Greeeta-" he nearly sings out but his voice is so tight and she gently shushes him, "Easy, my sweet little Brahms, only way to get the hair off is to shower….and I will need to wash your back to make sure the hair doesn't get caught in the scar tissue on your back."

He nods slowly but still she thinks he might hyperventilate. She raises her hands and does the same thing he just did. Sliding his green cardigan off his shoulders, then his suspenders, fingers pulling the beater up and over his head to expose the slick of hair that goes all the way down.

Her fingers gently run from either side of his stomach along the edge of his pants and his whole body jerks and spasms as muscles tighten and he growls painfully hard.

 _He is trying to restrain himself, this is your moment, let's test your masterful theory and see just how good he will be in order to win your affections._

"Brahms, hold me here-" she says softly as she takes his hands and moves them from her waist to her buttocks and his head drops down to face the floor as the most gutteral moan vibrates in his throat.

His hands squeeze and palm, fingers run under and along the very edge of her panty line.

"PrettyGretaPrettyGretaPrettyGretaPrettyGreta-" he hisses out through clenched teeth and his body is shaking but he has yet to assault her.

She undoes his button and zip, pressing his pants down, now knowing the man does not own nor does he wear boxers. The top of his bent head presses against her chin and she hears a sob escape him.

"Oh, my sweet patient boy, come here, be a good boy and kiss my throat for me would you?" and he presses the lips of the mask to that same spot, the cold feel of porcelain making her hiss in surprise.

Brahms suddenly growls, jerks her against him and squeezes her butt far too tight, his nails digging in.

Greta remains calm, lets him press his length against her, lets him hold her too tight and simply strokes the back of his head.

"Are you my good boy, Brahms?"

"I am, my Pretty Greta, I am, _please_ ….." he whispers desperately.

"Alright, you can make a mess, but let's get in the shower first." and she pulls away and finds he lets her, readily, willing allows her to pull away and step behind the white curtain, following her in a moment later.

She doesn't remove her bra or panties, though she is sure that she wouldn't have to worry about it if she did.

 _Give him what he wants in a way that allows you control._

She turns away from him then and takes his hands in her own, "Brahms, press up against my back." and he does, his length coming to nestle against her backside and his head bowing down to rest next to her own.

"Arms around me, like a good boy." and he complies, holding her tight, Greta's hands coming up to grip his forearms.

"Lean forward just a little, just like that….and-" she moves her backside against his length and Brahms nearly chokes but she keeps going, the edge of the mask suddenly pressing into the side of her face as he squeezes her tighter.

"Nice and slow, easy now, let it come." Greta coaxes gently as she keeps moving her backside against his length, "Yes, yes my Pretty Greta, yes…"

It doesn't take long, his body starts jerking in earnest, she feels his hips start moving against her, his natural instincts to thrust taking over and he pulls her even closer,

"YesyesyesyesyesPrettyGreta!" he moans out in utter relief as she feels him orgasm, humming and growling, pressing the mask to the side of her face and rocking against her over and over as he comes down.

He is heaving and shaking, she turns her head just slightly and catches his wide eyes staring straight ahead at the shower curtain, unblinking again, pupils fully dilated and seemingly in shock.

"That, was a very good boy." and she leans over and kisses his mask. He doesn't respond, just stands there staring, still holding her, still shuttering.

"Brahms? Will you clean my back?" and the shaking seems to stop, his eyes seemingly coming back from wherever they had just been and he manages a single nod.

As she lets her go and reaches for the soap next to her Greta finally breaths out a sigh of relief.

 _Congratulations, whore. Looks like your not as fucked as you thought. You still got some pieces in play. Only got to hope this new strategy works. It can only last so long before he is going to tire of it. Children always want more, always need more stimulation….dry humping is all good for a kid…..but it won't do for a man._

Greta's smile falters again at the sound of Cole prattling off in her head, the fact that he is right makes her feel sick with worry. She had found a stay of execution….but those only last so long…. Brahms would become more and more curious, more and more ready and wanting to do more….and who knew how disturbing or violent he may become as his fantasies and desires developed.

Up until now, his thoughts on sexuality may have been limited to just getting to that point of experiencing, but soon enough-

 _Cross that bridge when you get there darling-_ her mother encourages, _for now, marvel in little victories. You have to pick and choose your battles when it comes to children… otherwise you will be fighting them none stop. Enjoy this small victory, worry about the next round later._

Greta nods and swallows, yes, this is a victory, however strange and disturbing a victory it seems from an outside point of view. She _can_ control this dangerous thing currently scrubbing her back, she just has to use him properly.

 **A/N: Sorry I didn't edit this very hard, was just trying to get it posted. Hope you enjoyed, read and review.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So, this chapter took a bit and I require all of you to read the warnings below. If you do not I take no responsibilities for your reading of this chapter. I hope you all enjoy it though and thank you for the support and reviews. The editing is poor because I just don't have a lot of time to write these and I want to get them posted as quick as I can.**

 **WARNINGS: SEXUAL SITUATIONS, ASSAULT ON A CORPSE, MENTAL MANIPULATION, SEXUALITY AND SEXUAL EDUCATION! MENTAL INSTABILITIES AND BRUTALITY. READER BEWARE! NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART!**

 **Chapter Five**

 **Gentle Jesus, Meek and Mild**

When they stepped out of the shower Greta grabbed a towel, they stood on the bath mat and Greta went about the process of drying him. Gently running the towel over his wet locks, removing the mask so she could dry that dangerous face and then over his shoulders, chest, back and legs.

She then handed the towel to Brahms and said softly, "Please dry my back, Brahms." The man took the towel and complied, running both the towel and a bare hand over her back, before continuing down the rest of her body.

She then wrapped the towel around his waist and took his hand.

They entered her bedroom and she took him over to the bed, "Sit down, Brahms." the man complied without a word, having replaced his mask, he turned to watch her.

Greta swallowed, her heart beating harder but she had a feeling she was on the right track with this idea of hers.

She slowly turned away, unhooked her bra and tossed the wet thing into her laundry basket, she did not stop when she heard a faint whine from the man behind her. She then pressed down her wet panties and bent over so she could step out of them.

She hears his breathing increase but as far as she can tell he is still on the bed, "Brahms?" she calls softly and suddenly the breathing stops, he is holding his breath, "Would you be a good boy and help me with this?" and she pulled a fresh bra from the drawer and slide her arms through the straps.

She hears a shift, but it is the barest hint, the man so good at moving silently she only knew he was behind her for sure when she felt the heat radiating off his body on to her back.

Pressing the nose of his mask into the back of her head he inhales deeply before she feels his fingers grab up the clips and hook them together. She adjustes it to sit properly and then grabs up a matching pair of panties.

She doesn't hesitate to bend over in front of him and slide them on, but the man behind her stays silent. Hands came to her hips but they don't grab or push, they just run up and down, feeling her as she stands up straight.

 _Rather patient isn't he, not pushing to advance, just admiring, being allowed touches without the fear of rejection….all he wants is to be able to touch you, to have access to something he has always wanted but never had._ Her mother's voice says matter-of-factly.

Greta remains calm, shows no outward sign of it bothering her and she allows him this, to see how far he might take it on his own without her prompting.

He shutters but simply continues to gently knead and caress her hips, running hands down the sides of her thighs before moving up her stomach.

"Brahms-" Greta says softly and his hands stop, though a finger continues to stroke absently, "We still have a lot to do today, young man. I'm going to get dressed now." and she slowly turns in his embrace, places her hands on his bare chest and runs fingers through the thick hair, "Then we will get you some new clothes, something more fitting to your size."

She looks up into those silver eyes that just stare at her, slight tremors showing in his shoulders and a mild pant to his breath but otherwise he is calm.

"You've been such a good boy today, accept for this-" and she points a finger to her throat and tsks, "Naughty boy."

"I'm your naughty boy." he confirms in a breathy groan, stepping closer with an eager excitement, but Greta simply pulls away and once again he lets her.

She finishes dressing, lets him watch, doesn't stop him at any point when he approaches to gently run a hand through her hair or up her side, though when he takes up a breast she turns to look at him, "Not now. Later, when you make your nightly mess. I've already given you an extra one, let's not make me regret it, alright?"

Brahms nods once slowly before cocking his head and leaning in, placing a porcelain kiss to her cheek and Greta takes a moment to digest the tender show of affection, "Thank you, Brahms. Now be a good boy for me and let's go get a snack. Then I need to do some laundry."

He follows her closely the rest of the day, never straying too far but to Greta's immense relief he is completely calm. She allows him his touches, this closeness he wants, allows him to kiss her at his leisure though she finds it is mostly to her cheek and the top of her head.

He helps her with laundry, watches her fold it. Allows her to shave his face with the razor where she can and only touches her in fleeting and exploratory ways.

The rest of the day he is a dangerous but gentle beast, and Greta feels all the more confident in this new approach. She even finds herself growing calmer, the feeling of domesticity settling in and she wonders if she could get used it it.

If she _wanted_ to stay, if she didn't want to run and Malcolm wasn't constantly sitting on the line of life and death, could she and Brahms have functioned like this?

 _Give him a little and he won't try to take a lot. But be weary, my sweet boy always gets what he wants._ Mrs. Heelshire says hauntingly in her head.

"Thanks." she muses softly with annoyance as she is preparing dinner, Brahms sitting at the table watching her with focused but soft eyes. She makes vegetable soup, with large chunks of meat, something she hopes will give Malcolm a bit of energy.

When she puts a tray together for the man, Brahms stands slowly and looks at her expectantly, "Thank you, Brahms." she says with a smile, sliding the tray with a large bowl of soup and buttered bread towards him while admiring his new clothes.

She had found an old pair of Mr. Heelshire's black slacks, which Greta had unhemmed to finally allow for proper length on Brahms's long legs. She had also found a white button down that just barely fit, and Greta had rolled up the sleeves, not even attempting to try and make them long enough for the man's arms. She had tucked in the shirt, given him a belt, which surprisingly fit, but only by a notch and let him look at himself in the mirror.

He had only stared, not saying much one way or another before turning to her and taking her hand, waiting for her to lead him to their next chore.

 _He can be so obedient-_ Her sister muses softly in wonder.

"Take this to Malcolm and then hurry back, once dinner is over I have a treat for you, for being so good." this seems to get his attention and the man takes the tray and swiftly walks out of the room.

Greta goes about putting water to boil in a kettle and then grabs two large mugs from the cupboard before searching the pantry for the secret stash of hot chocolate she had brought. American hot chocolate was much different than European but Greta had a feeling that if the man liked sweets he probably did not get them often as there was no chance to take him to the dentist.

His parents would have done everything possible to keep from having to take the man from the house, so sweets were probably a rare thing indeed. Hopefully, Brahms Heelshire had a sweet tooth.

 _Pouring it on thick, really trying to butter him up, get him to be your little servant boy. Dedicated and in love-_

"Shut up, Cole." She hisses as she finishes her preparations and then makes another tray to put it all on, including some proper English biscuits.

Brahms returns only minutes later sans the tray of food and sits at the table, Greta walking over to place a kiss on the cool surface of the face, "Such a good boy, thank you for helping. Now, eat up, then your treat."

Brahms removes his mask, no longer in the habit of turning away to hide his face while he eats. Dinner is quiet, Greta enjoying the soothing quality of her soup, dipping bread and chewing with satisfaction.

Though Brahms eats slowly he finishes it all, soup, bread and glass of milk before Greta stands and takes it all to the sink.

"I will wash these later, are you ready for your treat?"

Brahms stands slowly and nods, waiting for Greta to cross to him and take his hand, "Alright, I will need your help. Come on." She has kept her smiles to a minimum, not looking at him unkindly but not giving him the idea that she is happy.

Honestly, she isn't happy, she is relieved, having nearly made it through a whole day with far less stress then was the usual. She was making progress, though she wasn't sure how this helped her to escape necessarily, it did make her feel like she had more control and was less likely to be attacked.

They entered her bedroom and she swore she could hear Brahms's mind at work, trying to figure out what his treat was, part of him no doubt hoping it had something to do with the bed.

He was a quarter right, she supposed. Walking up to the bed she removed the quilt and comforter and walked them over to Brahms, "Hold these for me please." he complies, cocking his head in confusion and she smirks. She then grabs up every pillow before leaving the room, Brahms following in confusion.

 _Clever! Morgan always loved when you did this for him._ Her mother's voice says.

 _Indecent!_ Mrs. Heelshire scoffs.

 _Fuck, Greta, what are you on?_ Her sister's voice calls out of the blue.

 _Another bitch, really? This isn't going to work, there is not point to this, you think this will make him behave? Make him see some value in you aside from a good old fuck? Come off it Greta, you can't control him through kindness and indulgence, didn't work for me, won't work for that psycho, all you are doing is prolonging the inevitable….stupid bitch…_

Greta presses on, making her way to the same balcony that her and Brahms had been on the night before. She drops the pillows and takes the blanket from Brahms, laying the plush comforter on the ground and then tossing the quilt on it and moving the pillows in place.

"Almost ready, come on, sweet boy." and she took his hand and once again they weave back through the house to the kitchen where she takes up the tray and then heads back to the nest she has just made.

Brahms has remained silent, a loyal follower as he studies everything she is doing in detail and with curiosity. Letting out a grunt when Greta sits on the comforter and pulls the quilt around herself.

Holding out her arm she motions for Brahms to come and sit next to her, the man complying before she tosses the quilt over his back as well.

 _Alright, girl, don't know what you're thinking but here it goes-_ her sister's voice said in confusion.

Greta pours water into the mugs, taking a small spoon and mixing the powder into the water before handing a mug to Brahms and taking one for herself.

"Alright, look up." she said and he complies, staring at the night sky, billions of tiny stars visible as they are far out into the country, not another soul nearby save for the village where Malcolm grew up, though even that is nearly eight miles away.

"That, Brahms, right there….is the Big Dipper, see, the four stars make the cup and those make the handle. Right off the handle….over there….the Little Dipper. Just to the left of the Little Dipper is Draco, the dragon, see...his tail curves just there….and Hercules is to the left of that….he is much harder to see-"

She turns to look at him and is surprised to see he is still staring up, eyes locked onto the sky, the mug still in his hands.

So she continues, "As the seasons change, the constellations shift, so, what you see now will be gone soon and a new set will take their place. I will teach you them, if you like, as the seasons change….when summer comes you can see-" and Brahms finally looks at her, those dark eyes staring at her as he cocks his head.

"You will stay." he says, though it confuses her, because it is not a question though the words feel like one.

"Yes, Brahms, I will stay."

Her heart clenches again at the lie, Cole's voice ringing in her head about how big of a liar she really is. They stare at each other a moment before Greta looks away and clears her throat, "Do you like it? Your drink I mean, I love hot chocolate."

Brahms looks down at the mug and she hears a small sound come from him, not a whine but also not a grunt, she can't explain the noise but she raises her hand.

"Here, try it." gently she removes his mask and he lets her so that he may bring the mug to his lips and take a sip, which then turns into a gulp and then he downs the whole thing."

He turns wide eyes on her before glancing to her mug and Greta finally allows a small smile, "Here, have mine, obviously you like it." Brahms takes her mug but this time sips at it slowly, apparently choosing to savour the sweet beverage over the next few minutes.

"Thought you might like something sweet, we can do this as often as you like, until it's too cold anyway."

Greta takes up a biscuit and munches on it slowly, waiting for Brahms to finish the last of the hot chocolate.

When he does he sets the mug on the tray and then turns to her, "Greta." he calls softly, the mask still off, those eyes staring at her strangely and she wipes crumbs from her mouth and looks at him, "Yes, Brahms?"

"Greta." he says again, a hint of urgency wrapping through his voice as he leans towards her and Greta prepares herself, knowing what is coming, and ready to give him what they agreed on. They were outside, it was a little nippy but the quilt would serve to keep them warm, and she hoped that this would become a reoccurring thing. Coming out here after dinner, where people might see, where someone might hear….where questions might be asked….

Brahms presses her legs apart, settles on top of her and brings their lips together, cupping her face and moaning as he does.

Shortly there after he abandons her lips and moves down to that spot on her neck that he now knows Greta thoroughly enjoyed.

 _Predictable…._ Her mother chirped.

 _Safe…._ Her sister whispered.

 _Such a naughty boy…_ Mrs. Heelshire admonished.

 _Slut…_ Cole fumed.

Greta's brow furrows and her lips roll together as she allows her body to react, not fighting it as it is all so pointless. She knows what this creature could elicit from her, all based on her own bodies desire to prepare her for what might come from this.

But her emotions were firmly in check, going through the motions of giving Brahm's his agreed upon price for Malcolm's room and board.

She spread her legs a little further and he nestled down against her heat, his hips slowly starting to rock as his lips suckle, lick and kiss at that tender spot she loves so much.

She gives a soft pant, the faintest of groans and Brahm's whines excitedly at the noise, shifting his hips the barest to the left and Greta suddenly jerks and gaspes hard.

 _Oh no, play it off, it never happened, soft smile, not too telling….hope he didn't notice-_

But Brahms has stopped moving and his face slowly pulls up to look at her, those eyes suddenly more focused and intense then before.

"Greta?" the voice is of the young man, but twisted and wrecked with desire and Greta clears her throat, "It's alright, I'm fine-"

"W-what was that?" his tentative and curious voice asks as he shutters and Greta just stares at him, unable to think up an excuse.

 _Stupid idiot! Should have worn jeans! Damn leggings don't protect against friction!_

"Brahms-" she starts but he does it again, rolling hips slowly, his hard length sliding up against her clit and causing a small jolt of pleasure to pulse and Greta clamps her eyes closed, rolls her lips together and tries to keep the noise in her chest from crawling out.

"Look at me!" Brahms growls out and Greta reluctantly opens her eyes, staring up into those silver things that are suddenly far too dark.

Brahms rolls his hips again, this time a little more firmly and Greta reaches up a hand to cover her mouth, though Brahms instantly rips it away, "I want to hear, Pretty Greta, let me hear it-" and he continues the same rhythm, hitting her clit just right and his teeth grit hard as his breathing slowly comes in deep gushes against her face, "Let me hear, let me hear you, I want to hear-" he whispers out over and over and Greta feels sweat form on her brow, her mind racing with how unfair it is.

She had finally been making ground, getting Brahms to behave and cooperate, and then suddenly he realizes things can go both ways and her guilt is mounting just as fast as the pleasure.

 _It wasn't supposed to be with him! Malcolm, it's suppose to be Malcolm!_ Her sister's voice cries out in lament.

"No." Greta pants as she shakes her head, feels the heat building in her belly and her mind growing hazey.

 _Ruining my little boy, ruining him!_

 _Enjoy it, why not, all part of growing up, can't be innocent forever-_ her mother says.

 _Look at you, told you this was pointless, told you he would find a way to turn the tables and take back control. It's an ebb and flow between you two, like the fucking moon and the tides…..what a pretty whore you are-_

"Shut up, Cole!" she hisses and then hands take her face and she is forced to look into those silver eyes, brutal and cold but solid and real and his voice comes like a spider across her skin, "Focus on me, Pretty Greta, just me...no voices….the voices are bad….let them go….let it all go….and…..just-" his words are panted out, his own pleasure building as he ruts against her, Greta feeling that dangerous twist in her lower abdomen.

"Do it, do it w-with me-" he whimpers and as she looks into those eyes, Brahms staring right back it becomes too much and she tumbles over, her hands suddenly on the man's back and nails digging into him as she lets out a guttural blast of noise and Brahms growls in response before he too gives several more thrusts against her and seemingly topples over.

"Yesyesyesyesyes!" he chokes out, all soft cries and strangled moans, pressing his forehead to hers, their eyes still locked as they both slowly fade down.

He settles then on top of her, his mouth finding that delicate place that Greta loves to have kissed and gently he licks and sucks there for the next several minutes.

Greta's nails stay rooted in his back, hands trembling, tears streaming as the high slowly drains and she has to process that the first moment of sexual pleasure since Cole…..that's nearly a year of chosen abstinence….came from this crazy murderer on top of her.

"No." she whimpers out and then Brahms shifts, bringing hands to wrap around her and press her face into his shoulder, "It's okay, Pretty Greta, we both made a mess, it's our secret. Our secret, to keep forever. I won't tell."

"T-thank you, Brahms. Yes, our secret, to keep forever." she whispers back, suddenly needing to hold him tighter, not because she cares for him, not because she is in love, but because right now, he is the only comfort she has and as much as she hates herself for it, she needs something…..someone…..anyone….to ground her and keep her from falling down into the darkness.

 **PAGE BREAK**

When they go back inside, Brahms carries all the blankets and pillows, while Greta cleans up the hot chocolate and takes the tray to the kitchen. Her legs feel a little shaky and her lips are in a constant frown as she tries to process what just happened.

 _You're an idiot Greta, that's what happened. You underestimated him again and then found yourself in the same position as you always do. At the mercy of a man who will take advantage of any weakness you show._

She admonishes, grateful that this time it is her own thoughts and words that greet her mind and not those of her family or anyone else.

In the silence of the kitchen she places her hands on the rim of the sink and leans forward, wanting more than anything to thrash or break something. She half expected to break down crying but the tears will not come and she doesn't feel the usual emotions that would warrant such a response.

Greta only feels shame and anger, any other emotions like fear, dread or self-loathing just aren't there.

Maybe she isn't scared because she realizes if she plays her cards right, Brahms has no need to hurt her or Malcolm. Maybe she just isn't scared of the idea of pain anymore. Maybe it was because after…..after…..Brahms had done something seemingly human and merciful and had held her and let her cry and feel all the awful things she was feeling without being offended or angry.

 _That's one way he is different than Cole. Brahms doesn't take offense for Greta's feelings, even if they are negative and specifically aimed at him. No, much to clever for that, he offers her solace and companionship...even if she doesn't want it….at least not from him._

 _But that's not the real problem, is it, Greta?_ Comes Cole's sl voice.

She shakes her head, tries to press him out, because she knows, she is aware that all these voices are just her own thoughts and feelings being personified through the people that have had the greatest effect on her life. Her mother, sister, Mrs. Heelshire, Malcolm and Cole….

 _Can't shake me off, because you know what I am about to say is truth. The problem is, the thing that bothers you the most…..is that you enjoyed it. It felt good to finally let go, to finally get that wash of release….I never said you weren't a sexual creature. Why do you think I was so possessive? I know you Greta, I know you get hungry just like everyone else…..sometimes more so….what was your first thoughts on how to beat him after he recaptured you? Use your sexuality against him….odd that….considering your past….._

"Shut up." She whispers, almost wishing it really was the ghost of Cole haunting her, he would be so much easier to ignore if he had elected to stay behind and make her life miserable.

 _Truth is, you're just as fucked up as he is, different stories, different lives, same fucking ending. You're a match made in heaven….his little slut. Keening under him like a schoolgirl being touched for the very first time… he's winning and you can't even see it-_

"Stop! Stop talking you loathsome, disgusting, filthy, abusive demon of a man!" and she grabs a mug off the tray and goes to throw it. Her anger mounting and her frustration and self-deprecation becoming too much.

However, she never gets to throw the mug because a hand grips her wrist and she jumps, the mug tumbling from her hand and though she expects it to shatter on the floor the sound doesn't come and she turns to see Brahms, mask firmly in place, right behind her, crouching down just enough to have grabbed the mug before it collided with the floor.

"Don't throw things Greta." The little boy says though she swears she can hear the faintest smile to his voice.

She stares up at that mask, sees those narrow silver eyes looking down at her, unblinking like always.

Not saying a word else, Brahms places the mug on the counter and slowly pulls her to him, "Oh, my Pretty Greta, won't you let me help you make that nasty man quiet?"

Her brow furrows and finally Greta can't take it anymore she finds that she has to ask, "Brahms, how did you know…..how did you know Cole was….that he's-"

"The voices were once in my head too, mummy and daddy, Emily and all the bad woman who came before you….they whisper things….horrible things….made me feel bad." the child says softly.

Greta is too stunned to speak and doesn't even fight the tall man when he pulls her to him and says in his shuttering adult voice, "Oh, Greta, I can help you….I can make him go away, make him quiet. Let me show you how, let me show you my secret."

That intrigues her, because honestly, the more she knows about him, the better equipped she will be to get away from him. Know thy enemy and all that jazz.

Sighing she feels his hand stroke through her hair and notices how he so gently backs her up against the counter. Hears his breathing increase and his hold tighten, "Greta, Pretty Greta, I want to have so many secrets with you….I know you are like me...I know you would enjoy secrets with me...the things I would do to you….that we could do together…..to each other-"

Panic sets in, her heart beating faster, she knows the signs now of when Brahms has entered one of his fantasies and despite the fact that less than thirty minutes ago she had been underneath him letting Brahms dry hump them both to completion, anything else was off the table.

 _Because you know you will fucking love it, you little slut-_

"Alright, Brahms." Greta says suddenly, the tall man stiling at her words, "Show me how to make Cole quiet."

She looks up at him as he gazes down at her and then a small child's giggle escapes from behind the mask.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Greta has followed Brahms to the basement, she didn't even know this house had a basement, though in reality it is more of a massive root cellar and she is more than a little nervous to follow him down into the dark, the exceedingly old wooden stairs creaking under their weight.

He is in front of her, gently holding her hand guiding her down into the darkness and Greta is absolutely losing her mind with fear. Her body shakes, her mouth is dry and there are tears in her eyes from the anxiety of it all.

She half believes he is going to kill her, the turn of phrase: silence the voices, suddenly sounding far more ominous. When they reach the bottom she turns away to head back upstairs but Brahms holds her hand tight and the warning in his voice when he says, "Greta, behave." is enough to make her still temporarily.

From the pocket of his green cardigan he pulls something small, she can just barely make it out in the light that streams down from the doorway they had just come through.

Suddenly there is a sharp snap and a match blazes to life, Brahms having struck the thing against an old wooden support beam at the bottom of the steps.

She notices a rusted lantern hanging from it and Brahms lights the wick before tossing the match off and turning to look at her. His mask is cast with flickering shadows but still those silver eyes peer out at her and he once again holds out his hand and Greta slowly takes it.

"Don't be afraid." the boy says and then Brahms moves away from the stairs and further into the dark space. The smell of raw earth and damp chill assualts her nose and despite the fact that Brahms is the one she fears she moves a little closer to him as they pass by shelves filled with jars.

Pickled vegetables, fruit in thick syrup, salted meats, hanging dried out herbs and more surround them and the smell of old and forgotten is replaced by the smells of lavender and rosemary, basil and garlic, mint and thyme.

 _Odd that there would be so many herbs and spices hanging to dry in a damp cellar_ but only too soon Greta sees why.

They seem to reach the end and move past all the strung up plant life to an area that has shelves on all sides, though this time everything seems to be nothing but old toys, several different sized masks that match the one Brahms is wearing and boxes of clothes and books.

 _Even more odd._

"Look Greta." Brahms says softly, "I saved him for you, so you could quiet him if he decided to bother you. I'm smart, I knew he would." and at first Greta is confused but as Brahms sets the lantern on a small table Greta sees what he is talking about.

There, in the center of the floor, lays the lifeless and pale body of Cole.

"Ohmygod!" Greta cries out and she instantly backs away but Brahms is still holding her hand and he pulls her to him, wrapping arms around her and holding her in place.

"No! No! Let me go, I don't want to see….I don't want to see him!" She shrieks but Brahms just holds her tight. At some point Greta thinks she pressed her foot against one of the support beams and Brahms went stumbling back into the shelves before sliding down to the ground.

He still has her, her back to his chest and she struggles near violently but Brahms is persistent and eventually she tires out.

"No, no, no, no, no, no, no." She whimpers as tears roll in large streams down her cheeks, "Greta, shhh, no this will help stop the voices."

"Brahms, I don't want to see him-"

"You must, Pretty Greta, oh but don't you see, you must face him. This is my secret, this is how I quieted the voices. You must do the same." the young man's voice sounds tender and coaxing but she hears the faintest hint of excitement and urgency.

"No! I won't play these sick games with you, I won't be what you want me to be, I won't be you!" she spits and Brahm's presses the lips of the mask to her ear as he says deadly soft, "No, not me, never me, you will always be you….always you, Pretty Greta. I only want to show you."

More confusion and then Greta finally asks as her eyes lock onto Cole's dead body, her stomach twisting sharply and the faintest smell of decomposition hitting her nose.

"Show me what, Brahms?" she asks in fear, unable to control the panic welling up in her chest, unable to control any part of her own life anymore.

"How to be free."

And Greta feels the bitter and sarcastic laugh that tumbles past her lips and her head fell onto Brahms's chest and rolled back and forth in disbelief, "Please, don't make me do this. Whatever you want to show me, just don't make me face that monster."

"There are no monsters, Greta. Only people with disguises." The child says with surety.

Greta sighs, "How, how is seeing him like this going to-"

"Stand up, Greta." the young man says and slowly they both raise from the ground, Greta turning her back on Cole's still form and looking down at the ground, seeing Brahms's bare feet pressing into the dark earthen floor.

Brahms takes her by the shoulders, "Stay, Greta." and then he moves off into a dark corner, she hears some shuffling and then Brahms slowly returns, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently turning her to face him.

In the dim light her eyes slowly look up and see Brahms holding something out to her in the dark. "Take it, Greta." the child says and then her shaky hand grips onto the unknown object and she feels along it only to realize it feels like a baseball bat.

"Oh god." she shutters out and everything falls into place.

"Now, silence him." Brahms says as he stands aside and holds out an arm to point to the body.

"No, oh no, no, that is….this is….crazy. Brahms, this isn't-"

"Make him quiet!" the man hissed as he steps towards her and Greta realizes in that second that she has in her hands a very effective weapon. One that could potentially knock Brahms out for several hours. Knock him out long enough to get to Malcolm, bust down the door and make it out of the house. They could get into Malcolm's car…

"Greta-" and she hears the warning in his voice, knows he must have made the same realization that she has and he takes another step towards her.

"Don't be stupid." the young man warns in a low voice and she looks between the bat and him for several seconds. Weighing her options, taking a step back towards the jungle of hanging herbs.

"You will regret it." Brahms warns again, the young man sounding thoroughly excited and annoyed at the prospect that Greta may act out against him.

"You promised me, Greta. You promised." The child chids suddenly and Greta's resolve thins a little, her arms which had raised defensively with the bat before her lowering slightly.

"We are friends, we keep each other's secrets….I won't tell...but don't run from this….Pretty Greta, don't run from what you need." the child urges and Greta's eyes harden.

"I don't need this." she says softly with resolve.

 _Don't you?_ Comes Cole's amused voice, _You've been wanting to get back at me for what I did to you for years…..don't you want to have a go._

"Shut up, Cole, it's not the same." Greta says and Brahms cocks his head to the side but doesn't say a word.

 _Can't even have a little fun? He's giving you a way to let it out, to escape me, yet….when you have the chance you don't take it? Miss me that much?_

"I said shut up!" and Greta feels tears in her eyes and she starts shaking all over again and her eyes leave Brahms to look at the body on the ground, days since his death and yet she can still see those beady eyes just faintly glowing in the dim lanterns light.

"Greta. Don't listen to him, make him silence." Brahms says and then he moves forward slowly, Greta rooted to the spot, her eyes still locked onto the dead man laying spread eagle on the floor before her.

A hand slides up her tense arm, comes to her shoulder before fingers gently rake hair away from her face, Greta feeling herself turn her head into the touch ever so slightly.

"He raped you Greta, took your child from you, beat you….now….even in death he taunts you, assaults your thoughts and feelings. He is slowly dragging you down to his level, making you feel lower than low."

"It's not right, Brahms. This isn't….isn't-"

"Perhaps not, Pretty Greta, but….it's okay. And I promise, you will enjoy it, it will quiet his voice, make you feel so much better." and his gentle urging is growing in excitement and part of Greta is fed by that sound.

 _Look at you, all shakes and tears, weak and useless, stupid and fragile._

"Our secret, no one will know, not even Malcolm. Take the bat, and make him quiet, remove his disguise and show him your power." Brahms whispers gently and his voice is laced with excitement, with something Greta could only compare to some form of hyped eroticisim.

 _You never could stand your ground, never could look me in the eye, do you really think defieling my corpse is going to make you feel any better? Do you think this will matter? I'm a part of you Greta, I own you…..you are mine!_

His hands come around her, move to rest over her own on the hilt of the bat and he grips there tightly, "Make him quiet, make him pay for what he did to you, what he took from you…..make him quiet!" and Brahms starts breathing heavier, presses into her back and makes her walk towards the body.

Greta's own breaths have started to come in pants, a twisted excitement of her own pooling in her stomach as anger swirls in her chest. She licks her lips, feels her heart hammering and finds that the more excited Brahms gets the more willing she becomes.

 _I own you! I am your fucking man, Greta! You stupid, useless, weak minded little cunt!_

"End him! End him now! Make him pay! Silence his ugly mouth forever, do it Greta, do it now! KILL HIM!" Brahms suddenly yells and in that moment it is as if she is possessed.

Brahms yanks her hands up and back, ducking his head to the side and then he whispers in her ear, "Now."

His hands suddenly release hers and a scream rips from her throat as the bat comes flying down through the air. A sickening crunch rings out and then, suddenly, Greta is gone.

 **PAGE BREAK**

He watches from the dark as she lets loose her rage. Having stepped back to allow her all the room she needs.

Arousal and excitement burn through his body as he watches his Pretty Greta reign down righteous swings and animalistic calls spurt from her lips with each blow.

She is fierce, she is powerful and she is lost to her own desires. There are more cracks, pops and squelching sounds as the bat strikes Cole's body over and over. Her eyes no longer that of a caregiver, of a beautiful woman, but of a beast that has longed to escape the cage it has been in for so many years.

Brahms just stands there, the child giggling wickedly in his mind, while he groans and watches from the dark, wanting to cheer her on but remaining silent, not wanting to break the spell, not wanting Greta to wake up just yet.

He knows how to help his Pretty Greta, knows what she needs, for she was trapped just like him. Though his prison was just the walls of this house, hers was in her own mind. He can't imagine what it must be like to be trapped in one's own head.

It's like slow motion, watching her swing, knees bent, arms pulling up and back over and over, aiming for any part of him, the wood denting and breaking his already soulless body.

But Brahms is not stupid, he always listened when mummy had read him books and he had learned everything he could, he knew the power of a metaphor. He also knew the power of letting go. Cole's voice would be silent now, for Greta had taken back her power, her strength, and she would be much more easy to convince Pretty Greta of her place with him if she could see what he was offering.

 _She will take care of me, love me, be mine and I will help her to be free. We will be best friends, have secrets, share in pleasure and such fun games….she came to me broken, but just like the doll, I will put her back together a piece at a time. She will be perfect, my perfect Pretty Greta._

His silver eyes move up to look at her face when another scream rings from her throat, though this time it is laced with tears and he knows it is nearly over. Pretty Greta will be done fighting soon, and when she is he will be right there, ready to continue his onslaught of her senses, her mind, freeing it from the confines of the cage, so she can run free, just like him.

 **PAGE BREAK**

The last swing she takes lands on Cole's wreck of a face, the blow causing a reverb up the body of the bat and her hands spasm. The bat goes flying, colliding with a glass jar of buttons on one of the shelves and it shatters, the buttons flying out and down onto the floor.

She stands there over the mutilated corpse of the man who had taken everything from her, who she had let take everything from her and despite her sudden urge to vomit, a sliver of satisfaction runs through her.

Still, she feels traumatized, though she cannot fathom why, she is the one who just desicrated a body, she should feel….anything but traumatized…..she just stands there and looks at the bloody pulp on the ground before her and then seems to come back to reality.

"Ohmygod." she whispers and a sob escapes her throat and she drops to her knees, turning her face away and vomiting.

"What have you done, what have you-" and she just stares, unable to process why she feels so….broken….

She doesn't register the hands that come and take her up, the warm chest she rests against as she is carried out of the cellar. Doesn't react when the brightness of the bathroom makes her eyes water or the fact that Brahms undresses her slowly.

The hot water and the feel of a solid body behind her as a rag wipes chunks of bone, flesh and bile from her face, chest, hands and arms. Doesn't feel how those hands run up her thighs and across her belly, massaging her breasts and shoulders.

A hand comes to her throat and tightens but doesn't impede her breathing, before running up her face and into her hair. Then a sigh and arms wrap around her, the tinkling of water dripping from a faucet just a vague echo in the back of her subconscious.

Her mind is blank, yet, everything moves around her in some half muted haze as she allows Brahms to do what he wants, no fear or worry, no terror. Just a strange mixture of peace and confusion.

There was so much satisfaction in hitting Cole's corpse with a bat, yet her conscious says it was wrong, she can't fathom how in this moment. He had brutalized her, taken her child, tried to take her from this house….from Brahms…..who at the time was as good as her own.

She suddenly feels numb, her mind blank of anything but the first images of the aftermath.

He deserved to have a little taste of venom, her venom, and she hadn't done it to him when Cole was alive. No, Brahms had gotten that satisfaction and Greta finally felt something swell in her chest.

It was terror at the prospect of wanting to know what it had felt like to kill the man who had tormented her for so long.

Her mouth opens before she can think better of it, but in this moment, she is hardly thinking at all.

"What did it feel like to kill him?"

The man doesn't respond, just lays behind her in the hot water, his arms still wrapped around her as she lays against his naked body. It doesn't phase her, she doesn't even think about it in this moment, so focused on getting the answer.

"Brahms?" She asks softly and finally a lone word comes from behind his mask, the sound of the child's voice content, "Good." Was all he said and Greta had nothing she could say to that.

Because, even though she didn't want to admit it, she had to agree, even as a sick and twisted metaphor, it had felt good.

For the first time in nearly three years, Greta feels satisfied and….content. She feels….free.

Slowly, in the tight space of the tub she rotates, coming to rest on her side and her head coming to lay by the man's neck. A hand runs up his chest and absentmindedly plays with his chest hair.

In return his hands take up purchase on her as well, one on her exposed hip, the other running over her ribs to come and rest on a breast. His fingers play with the pink bud gently and Greta lets him.

Her mind so consumed with what has just happened and how she feels about it that she allows him touches that she would normally discourage.

"Don't be sad Greta, you were wonderful. Cole's dead now, he can't hurt you anymore." Brahms whispers out and Greta stills her fingers, thinks in her head how much she wants to thank him and at the same time how much she wants to argue that what they did was wrong.

Yet, for some reason she doesn't know, as she still feels numb and the thoughts she has been having are still sporadic and coming in inconsistent waves, Greta reaches up a hand and pulls off the mask, looking at the man's burnt face in the bright light of the bathroom before she leans in and presses a kiss to his lips.

Brahms moans and then gives a small growl deep in his throat and the fingers that had been simply playing with her nipple clamp down and Greta bites his bottom lip and sucks.

 _Turnabout is fair play, darling boy._ Her mother's voice says with a smirk and Greta actually giggles softly.

"Naughty boy." She whispers and Brahms growls louder, nails suddenly digging into her flesh and Greta presses fingers into his hair and drags nails across his scalp.

Brahms lets out a high pitched squeal before suddenly jerking up and wrapping arms around her too tightly. Greta continues to kiss and bite at his lips, running nails down over his scarred back and letting out a pained gasp at the tightness of his hold.

"Don't break me Brahms. Don't hurt me, easy, not so tight!" She gasps and to her relief Brahms complies, though only enough to allow her to breath.

Greta is lost again in the kisses, for some reason, in this moment after the abuse of Cole's corpse and Brahm's subsequent encouragement she realizes she _wants_ to thank him. Even though part of her stills thinks it was wrong, part of her still feels like she is traumatized by the events of it and partially out of her right mind.

She finds comfort in knowing he isn't judging her, holds no ill will or distorted view of her. He had pushed her to this, the fighting of her monster in disguise. He had liberated her, just as he had promised he could if she let him.

"Let's go to bed." She whispers out against his lips and Brahms somehow stands up from the tub, still holding her to him he steps out, grabs a towel and simply walks them both naked to her room.

Greta is breathing heavy, Brahms still giving soft moans and whines into her mouth as those arms hold her tighter and he sets her down onto the bed, pulling away from her so she must sit on her knees and star up at him.

Their eyes meet and Greta finally realizes what her words had implies but instead of feeling a surge of fear she simply sits there naked and stares back into the silver eyes.

Her hand reaches out slowly and takes the towel, bringing it up and starting to dry him tentatively.

She looks between his eyes and where she is running the towel and tries to think of what to say to him but nothing comes.

After awhile she dries his chest and the hair rises and curls and Greta runs a hand through it, feeling the heat from his body, the skin underneath, the curls and for some reason she nuzzles her cheek against it.

 _Body of a man, mind of a child, how will you ever deal with him appropriately when he could kill you with one blow and throws a tantrum when he doesn't get what he wants?_ Her sister asks and Greta sighs.

Suddenly Brahms runs a hand down through her hair before pulling away and he walks slowly to the door that he then closes. Greta watches with wide eyes and swallows when his hand comes up and switches off the lights.

"Brahms?" She calls out softly into the room, her eyes unable to adjust to the dark fast enough to see where he has gone to. She moves off the bed quickly and grabs her robe that hangs across the chair in the corner. She slides it on but stills at the feeling of someone behind her.

"Greta, it's time for bed." The child says softly right next to her ear and she closes her eyes as she feels a finger press the right side of the robe off her shoulder.

His fingers drag gently down her arm, the other coming up to press the other shoulder off and then lips come to the skin on her neck. Brahms inhales deeply as he kisses and licks her throat, hands running down her arms and then Greta gasps when suddenly he picks her up and moves through the darkness to the bed.

She thinks this is the moment she had been dreading, the moment she will have to make the decision to either lay back and allow this creature his indulgences or fight tooth and nail to get away knowing it may still happen anyway.

 _You've come so far in such a short time, if you fight, your chances of escape will disappear, Malcolm won't survive. You will still be under his thumb. You've got no weapons, no way out of it, and if you try he will win._ Her sister's voice prompts in her head and Greta knows she is right.

In this moment, even if she wants to run and fight, it won't do her or Malcolm any good. She just needs to prepare herself, get in the right mind set, go through the motions and continue to wait for her chance to strike.

 _You had one earlier with the bat, you should have taken it darling. Oh well, lesson learned, next time, you don't hesitate my love. You can do this, you can escape._ Her mother offers with understanding affection and Greta feels comfort from those words of support.

Brahms lays her down gently and then gets on next to her, pulling the blanket up over them and reaching out hands for her in the dark. They lay there for several seconds, naked and together and Greta simply waits for him to seek out his wants.

However, while Greta had expected the man child next to her to roll on top, press her legs apart and take her savagely the cold mask presses to her ear and Brahms says softly, "I want you to show me."

Greta swallows, "Show you what, Brahms?"

"I want to hear you again, show me how to hear you." and Greta realizes his hand is sliding down her stomach and fingers press down between her thighs, Greta gasping and her body stiffening at the sudden touch.

"B-Brahms, wait-"

"Show me!" the young man urges and she hears him press the mask up before lips find her jaw and kiss it readily, "Show me how to make you sing." he whispers desperately as his fingers press more firmly against her womanhood before they bend and nails dig in a little and Greta's hand instantly jerks down to his and grips tightly.

"Don't scratch!" She whispers out hurriedly.

The jumble of both her mother and sisters voices run through her head like a train, _do it, take the out, show him this, before he gets any other ideas, this is an excellent position to be in! Do it, teach him, make him focus on this instead!_

Brahms has stilled next to her, his lips resting against her cheek and Greta swallows in relief, "Alright Brahms, I will show you, but you need to be patient, this can- it can take awhile."

"Yes, I will, I promise." the young man whispers desperately and Greta slowly spread her legs a little more before adjusting her hold on his hand and taking the next several minutes to show Brahms the correct way to touch a woman.

She doesn't say anything, doesn't explain it as she isn't sure she has the voice for it given the seriously messed up nature of the situation. Still, part of her is much more satisfied with this turn of events and so, does as he asks.

Brahms continues to kiss, lick and nip at her jaw, throat and shoulder, his other arm curling under the back of her neck while his hand runs through her hair and grips into it relatively hard.

"Oh, Greta, my Pretty Greta." he moans against her throat as she starts to pant, knowing that she needs to relax and allow her body to react as that is essentially what he wants.

After several more minutes of coaching him her throat finally seems to open and she speaks softly, "That's it, just like that, not to hard, but you want to focus your attention right there, just like that, good, good boy." she feels a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment and thanks the Lord they are alone and it is dark for her face is three shades of red and her hand shakes as she guides him.

"Sing Pretty Greta, sing for me." he whispers into her ear and Greta finally releases her hold on is hand so she can try to force herself to relax, allow the pleasure to flow and give Brahms what he wants.

"You'll need to speed up over times, Brahms, but keep your fingers right where they are."

"Yes, yes I will." and he moans into her ear, hot breaths blasting across the side of her face as his nose pressed against her temple.

Finally there is enough built up pleasure for Greta's mind to go relatively blank and she escapes into the feeling of it. Her breaths are picking up, her body is growing hot and she spreads her legs a little further.

Brahms is nothing if not a proficient learner and he maintains the the proper position and over the next few minutes builds speed as his fingers work her clit into a frenzy.

"It's wet." he whispers excitedly, "That's good, it's supposed to be." Greta gasps and Brahms growls out, "Why, tell me why!" and his hand fists even tighter in her hair.

"To make it easier." she pants.

"What, make what easier, what is it Pretty Greta?" and she suddenly bites her lips and her hips press up against his fingers a little to add some pressure, "E-Entry." she stutters and Brahms's hand stops cold.

"Brahms?" Greta asks as she opens her eyes and looks up at him in the dark to see his face has pulled away and is staring at her with wide eyes and a very crooked smile, "Entry?" his voice trembles out, the young man sounding far too excited.

Greta stops breathing, goes incredibly still and realizes what she just said.

 _Oh. My. God. Greta, you didn't-_ her sister's voice whispers out in shocked disbelief.

 _How could a man his age, even with his mental state not know-_ but her mother's train of voice is overridden by that of Mrs. Heelshire.

 _Little boys do not think such dirty thoughts, little boys do not do such things-_

Greta realizes she may never have been in danger of rape after all, for while Brahms had seemed to know what she was referencing, the assault of someone, he may very well not of known how such assaults happened, what it was exactly.

"Greta, tell me, entry where, how!" the young man demands and she suddenly realizes she may have just gotten a get out of jail free card, an honest chance to avoid sex with this man all together.

Greta swallows and reached down, takes his hand and says, "Bend your thumb, pinky and ring finger down, leave your pointer and middle out." Brahms complies and then she guides his fingers down and rubs them around the wetness that has built up before slowly she presses those two digits in past her folds.

Brahms lets out the most licentious lustful shuttering groan she has heard yet her hand releases his and he presses in hard, trying to go as deep as he can and Greta hisses.

"Easy." she says quickly.

"Does it hurt?" he asks and Greta closes her eyes as she feels his fingers inside her, "Not if you are careful." she shutters.

"Inside. I can be inside without having to hurt her. No knives, just inside, no blood-" he whispers to himself and Greta feels a cold fear slice across her chest as she realizes what he just said and what that means.

"Please, Brahms, please, only this way, only go inside me this way, don't ever-"

"No, Pretty Greta, no, never...not you...only those that came before. Never you." and then his fingers started to flex inside her, "Warm, wet, so tight and warm….so warm." he groans into her throat and then Greta takes his hand and tries to pull it out.

"No! I want inside, I want to stay inside, let me stay inside!" He protests and Greta says softly, "I am, but, you want to hear me sing too, don't you?"

"Yes, oh yes Pretty Greta, sing for me." he urges.

"Then you will have to help me. Rotate your hand, that's it, and press your thumb right there, now bend the fingers that are inside."

Greta feels the direct stimulation instantly and she jerks a little and sucks in a breath and Brahms moans with each panting breath he takes as he suddenly understands.

"Yes, Pretty Greta, I will help you sing, I will, I promise!" and he starts moving his hand as she had directed.

It doesn't take long for Greta to climb and she allows herself to do so quickly for as soon as she does this nightmare will be over and a new day of hell can begin.

The pleasure sit hot in her lower abdomen and Brahms sinks teeth into her throat and sucks hard which laced the pain of it with the pleasure he was giving her and seconds later Greta came hard, her hand instinctively going to Brahms's and pressing it in deep and hard.

"Oh, move those fingers, keep going, that's a goooood boy!" she moans and Brahms sputters and jerks next to her as Greta's muscles clench around his fingers and she feels her body finally coming down.

There is a hot sticky mess on her thigh and she realizes that Brahms had cum right along with her, without any direct stimulation at all. However, Greta was suddenly exhausted and she just doesn't care. Taking her robe from the end of the bed and using it to wipe her thigh.

"Greta?" Brahms calls softly and Greta sighs, "That was a good boy Brahms, now it's time for bed. Remove your fingers please." she says with a yawn.

"But, I want-"

"Tomorrow, Brahms. Now, fingers, if you please." Brahms very slowly removed his fingers and Greta kisses his cheek, "Good boy, now, time for sleep." and she turns onto her side, brings her face to his chest and lays next to him, her body relaxed for the first time in days and her mind blank. Not a voice, not a sound save for Brahms's breathing and minutes later she is fast asleep.

 **A/N: Sorry this took so long to post and that the editing is so poor. I hope you enjoyed it. We get some Malcolm next chapter.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Alright, next chapter, sorry it took so long, I got caught up in another couple stories and I couldn't stop myself. So, here you go, PLEASE read the warnings and leave a review if you liked it.**

 **WARNINGS: SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE, MATURE CONTENT, PUNISHMENT, TORTURE, MENTAL INSTABILITY, SWEARING, NUDITY, MANIPULATION, ALL OVER INSANITY SO BE SURE YOU ARE GOOD TO READ THAT BEFORE YOU CONTINUE!**

 **Thank you for your support!**

 **Chapter Six**

 **Look Upon a Little Child**

She has a plan, a stupid plan, but it's a plan. She had woken up just as dawn graced the sky. Surprise greets her, for Brahms is still next to her sleeping soundly. His arms are around her, he is holding her close, protectively, his legs tangled with hers and his mask presses down into her shoulder.

Greta doesn't move, wants to take this moment to come up with a plan. She needs to find what room Malcolm had been left in. But she hasn't had time to search the house without Brahms finding out.

How could she search, how could she find him. The house is big but not so big that it couldn't be searched in a hour or two.

The sun has finally passed the horizon when an idea comes to her, something Mrs. Heelshire had said when she first arrived coming to her mind.

 _Brahms is playful…._

The beginnings of a plan start to come to her and she tries to work out how she could initiate it.

However, Greta is pulled from her thoughts by a hand gently rubbing up her thigh, gliding across her stomach and then down. The hand presses between her thighs and fingers gently seek entry.

Brahms is awake, "Greta, Pretty Greta, let me in, please...let me in." he murmurs softly into her ear, shuttering and pressing his length into her backside.

"Oh, Brahms, it's early sweetheart. You need to wait until after breakfast-"

"Now." he orders between clenched teeth as his hand presses harder and fingers slide into her and Greta gasps before she jerks up. She is wide awake now and Brahms sits up behind her, wrapping an arm around her and his mask cutting into her cheek.

His fingers start moving and Greta's hand jerks back to brace herself, the heel of her hand sliding down his hard length and Brahms's hand stops.

 _Think fast sister, it's time to take one for the team if you don't want him to have his way with you._

Her hand instantly jerks up and she palms the hard length of him and he groans.

"Lay back for me now." and he instantly complies, his hand abandoning his hold on her womanhood. She rotates and then takes his length in her hand, "Just relax, Brahmsy." and she starts to work him, the man gasping and grunting as his stomach tightens and his hands fist the sheets brutally hard.

"There now, nice and easy, just relax." and she continues to grip him, moving her hand consistently as she waits for him to reach his end.

"Oh yes, sweet pretty Greta, yesyesyes, please, faster!" he urges and Greta sighs in relief until his hand suddenly reaches up and latches onto her breast, his hand gripping it roughly as he starts to jerk but Greta notices the jerks are coinciding with whines that don't sound pleasant.

"Everything okay, Brahms?"

"Sore." he says softly as his masked face seems to glance down at her from its perch on the pillows.

Greta looks down and realizes she doesn't have any lube, her lotion ran out in the first month. She didn't know where she might find any but decides to go look only to feel a painfully tight grip on her arm, "Brahms, I need to find some lotion for you, it will help-"

"Don't stop." he pants and his eyes show he doesn't care about the discomfort of chafing skin and so Greta continues her work. But after three more minutes of the man tensing and hissing Greta looks between her hand and the mask, eyes staring unblinking at the ceiling and she makes a decision.

"Alright Brahms, I'm going to do something special for you, but you are not to move your hands, leave them where they are, alright? Or I will stop."

He nods and Greta slowly leans down, opening her lips and taking his length into her mouth.

"GRETA!" Brahms suddenly yells, starting in a child's voice but ending in his adult voice, his whole body stiffening and she does her best to get his length wet.

He is a good size but nothing she can't handle and so gives several long slow bobs of her head before removing her mouth and gripping him with her hand.

After that, it's about a minute before he comes. His breathing grows more inconsistent and, his hands gripping the sheets so tightly veins bulge from his arms and he lets out a high pitched squeal as his hips start jerking.

Caught up in trying to read how close he is, Greta asks, "Are you about to sing?"

"Yes, Pretty Greta, now, now!" he grunts and Greta instantly leans down, wrapping her mouth around his length as he shutters through his completion and fills her mouth with his seed.

She is taken by surprise when hands suddenly come to the back of her head and his hips jerk up, lodging his pulsing length down the back of her throat and she gags a little but Brahms just hisses and cries, "YESYESYESYESYES!"

Her eyes water and her throat aches but thankfully it doesn't take him long to finish and then his hands drop away.

She thinks he may be too stunned to move for a moment, eyes staring wide at the ceiling and she shifts up to look into them, those dead yet seemingly satisfied things that haunt her day and night.

"How are you feeling? Alright?"

A single nod and a hand running up her side and she leans over and kisses the forehead of his mask, "Come on, shower and then breakfast. We need to check on our friend Malcolm. Then we need to start the day, alright?" His head rolls to look over at her, eyes still staring and she wishes he would blink.

"More." he whispers.

"Not right now Brahms, we have to follow the list." she urges gently.

 _Very good, daughter, make him regret the list….make him want to end it…..less control if there is no list._ Her mother says approvingly in her head.

"Nooo, no list today." and he reaches his arms for her but Greta moves back and he glares at her but Greta suddenly realizes how she will enact her plan and gives a rueful smile.

"I guess you will just have to catch me, Brahmsy." and she grabs her spare robe and giggles as she jogs playfully out of the room.

She hears a ruckus as he jumps out of bed and moves after her. Thankfully he took the time to grab his pants from the bathroom before following her. Greta moves down the stairs, looking behind her to see Brahms slide to a stop at the top of the stairs, his eyes finding hers before he comes down after her.

Greta lets out a playful squeak before she rounds the bottom and runs off into the house. She doesn't know the house as well as him but in her time here she has learned enough to make a good game of hide and seek.

She hears a childish giggle ring out before the child calls, "Greta? Come out silly, Greta. I want to touch you."

Maneuvering through the pool room and heading to the door on the other side, remembering it will pass through to the study. She makes it through to the hall door only to look back and see Brahms poke his head through the door she just came through.

"Ha!" she says with a smile as she takes off and she hears his feet padding almost inaudibly behind her. She glances over her shoulder and sees his hand reaching out to grab her and she gives a playful scream and laugh before she ducks into the kitchen and rushes to the counter.

Brahms comes up behind her and slams into her, pressing her into the counter, his arms wrapping around her before reeling back and Greta kicks and struggles.

"No! You can't catch me!" she laughs and the child laughs along with her, "I got you!"

"Not for long!" and she feigns shock, "Oh my god! RAT!" She yells and Brahms lets her go and looks around with a quick spin only to see Greta has taken off again.

"Naughty!" the young man hisses happily and he runs after her again.

She now heads up the stairs, moving quickly to get to the top and when she does she hangs a right, running down the hall, trying doors and finding them all locked.

 _Here, this is where he is, the only hall with locked doors, Malcolm has to be here! Keep playing, don't make him think you are looking!_

She realizes the hall ends and she stops, having tried all the doors only to hear movement in the door to her right and a faint, "Greta? Is that you?" and she smirks.

"Got you." she says softly before jerking forward and running back down the hall, Brahms popping up the top of the stairs before her. He opens his arms and hunches down, grabbing her up and Greta doesn't allow him time to focus on the fact she just came from the area where Brahms had hidden Malcolm.

She wraps her legs around his hips and rips off his mask before pressing her lips to his and giving him an overly passionate kiss, the man opening up to her instantly as his nails dig into her ass and he gives a throaty groan.

He nearly loses his balance but his back hits the wall that is nearby, but his legs slide out due to the carpet and he lands harshly on his bum, Greta taking up his face and continuing to kiss him.

The monster below runs hands up over her ass and then her waist and to her back, pressing her body closer, his tongue exploring her mouth eagerly.

When she pulls away she presses her forehead to his and whispers, "You caught me, Brahms. Did you like your reward?"

"Oh yes, Pretty Greta, yes." he whispers back, "So beautiful, so nice and sweet and tender and mine, all mine. So wonderful, so gentle and mine."

Greta feels that pinch of guilt in her stomach, the lie now growing more in depth as they have finally crossed the threshold into the physical realm.

 _Regret nothing, this is your chance. You know where he is now, time to formulate a plan. A way to get him out of the room and out of the-_

Brahms shifts suddenly, jerking forward and laying her on the ground. He presses her legs apart and before Greta can say anything his head presses down and his mouth latches onto her womanhood.

She jerks violently and gasps, Brahms giving an excited growl. Greta's hand jumps to his hair and she tries pulling his head away but he is quick to shove her hand away and continue to lick and suck at her core.

"B-Brahms, please, wait...don't-" she gasps but her pleading only seems to spur him on and when she feels his teeth she jerks and says swiftly, "Don't bite!"

He gives another nip and then murmurs softly, "Stop fighting." and Greta digests the small threat for a moment before she resigns herself to his mouth and lays her head back.

His tongue works diligently and Greta has to admit he learns awful fast, she feels the heat in her lower abdomen and tries to clear her mind, knowing Malcolm's room is just down the hall.

A hand leaves her thigh and she instantly feels fingers pressing into her, bending and messaging against her sensitive spot and her back arches as his tongue flicks swiftly across her clit. She thinks she might be able to tumble over now, force it to come early when Brahms suddenly pressed his fingers in all the way, hard and solid and the need to force it disappears as she comes undone.

The high of it is sweet, her mind nothing but a throbbing white light and the pleasure swirls through her, her mouth opening in a silent scream as she hears Brahms groan and drink up her juices.

"So good, delicious, more, Greta, give me more." he whimpers, presses his face more firmly against her heat.

She lays on her back in the hall on the floor, half-lidded eyes staring at the wood beams of the ceiling as he continues to lick and kiss at her core.

Greta jerks a little whenever he grazes her clit, his obvious desire to simply remain there for the rest of the day not surprising her, though the attention he is giving could be endearing if the situation was different.

Though she doubts it is because he is invested in her pleasure and comfort, she knows its purely selfish on his part how he claims her body so readily, takes his time to enjoy every inch and opportunity, part of her relaxes as his lazy tongue continues to ease her back down from her high.

"Such a good boy." she whispers before the shock settles in and she realizes she had said it with such honesty, no ulterior motive to please him, but because he is honestly doing something she is enjoying.

Guilt, shame and humiliation flood her and she suddenly wants it to end. But as Brahms moans and runs his tongue along the length of her opening, a hand caressing up her inner thigh she closes her eyes and sighs, both wanting to end this and wanting to enjoy it.

 _You're getting too close, losing yourself to intimacy….but foreplay and orgasims are nothing in comparision to Malcolm's life. There is no doubt in your mind what needs to happen, keep allowing him to use you….allow him his pleasures….but don't allow a bond to form. A false sense of security is good, if he thinks he has you won over, he will loosen his hold….so allow him his indulgence, but don't fall for the false pleasure that comes with it. It's hollow promises…..empty ecstacy…_

"But it feels so good." Greta whispers to herself and Brahms hums as he continues to kiss and lick so gently, hands sliding up her thighs and onto her sides before he finally abandons his ministrations and raises up, moving his mouth up her front, finding her breasts and lazily sucking on a nipple while he palms the other, his free hand suddenly coming up to cup the back of her head.

"So soothing." she groans and he spends minutes just caressing her, touching her. Greta's mind having grown hazy and silent.

He bites her swollen bud and a small cry comes forth from her lips and her eyes glance down the hall.

"Brahms, we need to start our day-" she pants.

"This is our day, Pretty Greta, all day...this...only this." he whispers.

"We can't. Brahms, you need to listen to me, I am in charge, we need to-" but a hand comes to grip her chin, his eyes, normally so dead look intoxicated as he hisses out angrily, "I want this!" he growls.

Greta swallows, sees that she is going to have to compromise, "Alright, Brahms. But please, we need to eat, aren't you hungry?"

"Only for you." and his lips come to hers, she tastes and smells herself on them and it's a rather potent deterrent to her argument.

He abandons her lips, works his way down her jaw, towards her throat, bites it gently before he goes lower, focuses on that spot that drives her crazy and her hands thread up through his hair, "Alright, but we need to go to the bedroom, we c-can't stay in the hall-" her head rolling to look down there, spy Malcolms door before she looks back at him and sees him watching her, eyes narrowing and Greta pants before she looks down the other way as well, not wanting to give him the tiniest clue that she might know.

"The bedroom, it's cold here." she says as she looks back and sees his eyes narrow dangerously.

Her brow furrows at the look, thinks perhaps he knows but her fears are put to rest when he says with annoyance, "Fine." he hisses and then she is being pulled up, her robe now open but Brahms suddenly hoists her up, Greta's legs wrapping around his hips and his mouth finds that spot again. Her arms wrap around his shoulders, her head resting next to his. As Brahms descends the stairs, still licking and moaning into her neck, Greta's eyes find the door at the end of the hall and she tries to focus on how she is going to get him out.

PAGE BREAK

Her only thought as Brahms sits on the edge of the bed, still holding her, having pressed her robe off and his hands run up her thighs, grip her backside, is that she needs to tire him out. Has to come up with a way to wear him out so he will lose interest.

A hand comes to her breast, presses it up so his lips can return to their nipping and sucking and Greta tries to tune it out, but the less she responds the harder he bites and she realizes that Brahms wants to hear her.

It's not just about the touching, not just about arousal, he gets rougher the less she makes noise. He near bites her nipple and Greta gasps, her hands gripping hard into his hair and Brahms growls, "Make sound!" he barks and Greta can do nothing but nod and say, "Alright."

His hands run up her sides, come around to drag nails down her back and tears come to her eyes, "Please!" she says and he stills for a moment, "Don't hurt me." she whispers, "I don't like pain."

"You can learn to, Pretty Greta. Pain is weakness, if you embrace it, nothing can hurt you." and it's the shuttering wicked voice of the young man, his hands coming back to her shoulders before dragging down her back again.

"No, stop, pleeeease-" she near cries as the sharp pain of his nails flood her mind. She doubts he is drawing blood, it's not quite that brutal, but there will be marks, red and angry, and she feels sick when she hears Brahms laugh softly, "Embrace it, Pretty Greta. Pain won't kill you, I won't kill you, but I want….to hear you love it!" he hisses the last part out and he drags his nails down her back one more time and Greta lets out a small sob as she tries to let the pain flow through her, tries to accept it, not understanding how he could go from being so tender in the hall to so brutal in the bedroom.

She's desperate to make it stop and wraps her arms around him fiercely, bringing her lips to his ear, "Pleasepleaseplease, stop, don't hurt me, don't be like Cole...don't be him...I don't want to hurt anymore." the tears flooding as she presses her face into his, feeling the sacred skin of the burn.

She presses kisses to his jaw, nuzzles closer, hands grabbing at him desperately as she pressed her body into his.

Relief floods her as his hand stops, having been ready to claw down her back again, this time he runs a soothing palm down her back. Greta sighing as the burning feeling mellows and Brahms whispers softly in his child's voice, "I want to help you, Pretty Greta. If you'll let me. Don't be afraid. It only hurts for awhile, then it goes away...you'll be stronger after and it can feel so good."

She can't wrap her mind around what he could possibly be trying to do, manipulation? Brainwashing? Trying to creating some strange form of fetish? Maybe he truly just loves torturing her, like a starving man, offer food and then take it away.

Her minds reels as his hand continues to gently caress down her back, soothing the aching skin and she just sits there, legs still wrapped around, holding him close because what else can she do?

She has to make him trust her, fighting him, trying to pull away will only make him hold tighter, he has to think she is embracing this, the insanity, the inconsistency he is offering with open arms. Yet, how far is she willing to let him go? How much damage will he be able to do before she can get Malcolm out, before she can get away from him?

"You like hurting people, I understand that, and...I'm not afraid of that part of you Brahms, it's who you are….but don't….not me...don't hurt me. I can't….I can't handle it….and if you hurt me...I'll have to leave."

"Oh Greta, when will you realize….pain is just another form of love." and Greta feels fear and desperation swell in her, understands in that moment, that Brahms is not going to stop.

"One more time." he coaxes gently and Greta shakes her head, "No, please, don't, please don't-" but his hand raises and his nails are placed on her upper back.

"Brahms, please….stop….stop it….don't-" and she starts to struggle, but he holds her close with his free arm, her own nails digging into his scarred back, which makes him groan, and she jerks and thrashes but his nails drag down her back, deeper this time, no doubt finally drawing blood and she sobs as the pain of it rockets through her body.

She is so desperate to get away she tries to press through him, Brahms falling back onto the bed before he rolls over on top of her, the hand that had just been laying lines of torture on her back pressing down to come between her thighs.

"Time for your reward." the tone of his voice sounds cruel, near sarcastic, far different then the tone she had taken in the hall when she had said the same thing. She sees his eyes then, glazed over with want and...anger….he's mad…..why is he mad? What did she do-

 _Malcolm…..he knows…._

His fingers slide into her and she sobs, not out of pain, he isn't hurting her now. In fact he is focusing on her sweet spot, the throbbing of her back fading in her mind as he continues to warm her up.

 _He must have realized what you were trying to do….that….was punishment….for tricking him….but how…..how did he realize…_

"Focus on me." he says softly, "Look at me, my eyes, I want to see you when you make a mess."

There is clarity in his eyes, a sanity that isn't often there, and she stares as her body climbs, knows she is found out but can't imagine how he knew-

"Sing for me." he whispers and as she looks upon his burned face, studies those eyes, she knows she isn't going to be able outsmart him unless she can distract him...somehow….somehow she has to-

When she tips over a hand comes to her head, she makes the noises, feels the pleasure, allows her mouth to open and keeps her eyes locked with his as he presses his forehead to hers.

"Yes, let me hear you sing, yesyesyes-" and his fingers keep moving, her ride down a long one as her body convulses next to him.

"My sweet Pretty Greta, you sound so good. I wish you hadn't been so naughty. But I'm not like that bad man, he hurt you because he could….I hurt you because you needed to be punished. And...you need to understand that pain….is nothing you need to fear. You always feel it, but fearing it is pointless….in the end it always comes...but it never stays."

He then kisses her, long and slow, gentle and tender. She opens her mouth to his, thinks of reaching over to grab at the lamp next to her bed and bashing it over his head.

She is angry, bitter, resentment filing every inch of her body as she thinks of all the ways she could kill him. This monster, this creature, this demon that is like fire and ice wrapped up in the thrills of insanity. She wants him to hurt, wants to make him suffer for what he just did and so, she raises a hand, shoves her nails into his back and drags them down hard and fast.

Brahms yells, shutters and lets out a rather telling squeal and Greta braces for the punch to her face, the hands on her throat or even a random sharp object to her stomach.

Instead, Brahms looks down at her, eyes wide and excited as he whispers, "That's my girl." and then he descends on her once again.

PAGE BREAK

Greta moves slowly towards the bathroom, her body aching as tired eyes stare dead at the shinning white of the room before her. From head to toe she is covered in glowing red scratches, nothing too deep, nothing she needs to wrap, but she will need to disinfect each and everyone.

She feels Brahms moving behind her, doesn't even think about it as she reaches for the faucet and turns on the water.

 _It's going to sting, for the next few days everything is going to sting and hurt….but you did so well._ Her mother's voice encourages gently.

She doesn't feel that way though, doesn't feel anything at all actually. The last three hours had been nothing but pleasure and pain mixed into some strange dance for power and domination.

He scratched her, she scratched him, he touched her and she touched him. The bedding was so soiled with blood and bodily fluids she might as well just throw it out and try to find new ones. Her anger at the demon behind her had faded as she learned this strange new game, her mind having realigned itself to try and accept the duality of what had just happened.

Pulling the curtain of the shower closed she glimpses her nails and sees the blood underneath them, turns to look at the man standing silently behind her and realizes that while her body was nothing but raised scratches and raw skin, Brahms seemed to be in far worse condition.

She was, after all, a woman, her nails were a force to be reckoned with, and she noticed a set of four long scratches that ran from his collarbone down to his nipple, blood actually leaking from it a little and she couldn't stop herself from moving forward.

Her fingers touched the wound, realizing she had actually done far more damaged to him, as her eyes scanned him over and she saw more than half of his were actually leaking. She looked down at herself, none of the claw marks from Brahms having broken her skin to the point of actually oozing blood.

"You won." the child's voice says happily as he cocks his masked face to look at her, having replaced it when they had gotten up to come in here.

Any remaining anger fizzled out, "Brahms, why would you let me-"

"You wanted to." and she looks up at him, "No." she says, "I don't like hurting people-"

"But you like hurting me….because I like hurting you. We hurt each other...because we like it."

Greta shakes her head, heaves a big sigh, "Brahms….that's not how love works-"

"Pain is just another form of love." Brahms says with assurance.

"No. Love is supposed to be gentle….kind….tender….passionate…."

"I was gentle." he says, pointing to the scratches covering her body, not a single one bleeding, even the one she had been so certain was open on her back, she had discovered had not opened like she thought.

"But I wasn't….what does that tell you, Brahms?" Greta asks softly.

Brahms's head cocks more sharply to the side before he says, "You don't love me as much as I love you."

Her heart sinks, the denial in his words showing how unaware he is of the situation, at least, in regards to her feelings.

"Brahms….please….you have to understand...making me stay here….keeping Malcolm hostage….it's all a lie." she says it before she can even register what she said and her brain screams at her, the stupidest thing she could have done was admit it was all just some game they were playing, that she was trying to manipulate him as much as he was trying to manipulate her.

She looks to him with terrified eyes, realizes she just showed her hand, her true feelings, but instead of Brahms snapping, attacking or screaming at her he simply laughs, "Shower time."

Her shock at his dismissal is evident and she can do nothing but mechanically turn and step inside under the hot water, her whole body stinging wickedly just as she predicted.

Brahms joins her, and shortly after they take turns washing each other, soaping and cleaning each scratch and mark, the water running red when it is Brahms's turn to rinse. Greta cleans her nails nervously, unsure how she feels about the fact that Brahms had been so dismissive of the truth.

After, they dry off, the white towel stained from Brahms's leaking wounds and Greta, having brought the medical supply basket upstairs when she had to wrap her hand, went about covering his deepest wounds.

She would be lying if she told someone she didn't have a glimmer of satisfaction from how brutal she had been to him. He was covered head to toe, just like her, but the pain he must be feeling as she cleaned and dressed the deepest ones…..he would be feeling it for days.

While she worked she took the time to check the wound that had been ignored for so long, seeing that the stitches had held, much to her shock, and that there was no sign of infection.

That's when she noticed the color of the thread was different and she glanced up at him in surprise.

 _He's been taking care of it, changing the stitches when needed and treating it with anti-infectant...he must do it at night….while I'm sleeping. He's always one step ahead, nothing is going to get in his way of keeping you here. How the hell did he know….he watched you do it….does he really learn that quickly….watching once….then able to mimic what you did…..they look professional….like he was trained….how could he remember…._

She sighs heavily, suddenly so tired and it's not even dinner time. Her hands start to shake as she tries to focus and over the next few minutes she finishes getting him bandaged up.

"I don't want you to put a shirt on for the next few days, just let the bandages sit, alright?" she says weakly and Brahms nods.

"I'm going to go make a late lunch...early dinner? I'm going to go make food." and she stands, doesn't bother with her own body, doesn't care honestly. She dresses in her room, putting on a pair of jogging shorts and a thin light t-shirt. She forgets a bra or panties, doesn't want to feel them rub against her scratches.

That numb feeling of indifference settles in her and she thinks she might be broken, knows today had gone bad, very bad. She thinks Brahms knows what she did, that her little trick is what started the madness of a three hour long torture session.

Still, her brain feels fried and she can't care to think anymore. Brahms follows her, stays silent as the grave as she makes food, not even bothering to look at the clock to see what time it actually is. Does it matter? Obviously the list isn't happening today, neither are the chores….nothing….just food….let it all fall apart today, don't care….Brahms doesn't...why should you.

 _Hey sis, maybe you should-_

"Shut the fuck up, Sandy." she grumbles out angrily, not wanting to even pretend that the advice will be useful.

 _Your giving up darling, don't give up, don't despair, don't let him break you…._

"With all due respect mother, fuck off." she hisses as she smacks the frying pan down onto the coils.

 _Well, I think you are being rather pathetic. Giving up because things go so rough and tumble, you've had worse from that brute ex of yours….at least my boy hasn't knocked you up out of wedlock-"_

"Oh, shut up you stupid condescending BITCH!" and Greta picks up the cutting knife and chucks it at the wall, the thing piercing straight through and she stares at it, eyes wide with surprise at the fact she actually threw the knife hard enough to go through.

She hears clapping and looks to see Brahms sitting at the table, hands moving happily, his eyes bright behind the mask.

She grunts and rubs a hand down her face, trudges over to the knife and yanks it out, returning to the counter, her mind quiet as she makes chicken, everyone likes chicken.

She cuts her finger twice, keeping going, the pain not registering as she throws the pieces into the hot pan and seasons it. When it's cooked through, she makes three bowls and then brings them over to Brahms.

She gives him one, puts one in front of her chair and holds out the third one, "You or me?" she asks as she points upstairs.

"You, I want chicken." the boy says happily and he picks up a fork and starts to eat, pressing his mask up to rest on top of his head.

Her heart stops, her eyes bulge and she doesn't say anything at first, just stands there. Suddenly her mind seems to jump into overdrive and she says, "Fine, the key? Do you have it."

"Oh, yes, here you go." the boy says and he reaches into his pants and pulls out the skeleton key, dropping it into her hand before he returns to eating.

Greta instantly turns, is at the door when she hears him call softly, "Ten minutes." he sings happily and she understands.

Her feet move quickly, not running, but not near as slow as she should. She reaches the top of the stairs, turns right and gets to the end of the hall and shoves the key into the lock.

She turns it and hears the click, her heart now hammering, tears in her eyes, and she opens the door and steps into the room. Malcolm nowhere in sight until she hears a noise in the bathroom and moves quick, "Malcolm?"

Greta nearly jumps when the man swings out, the two almost colliding and she sets the bowl aside, wrapping arms around him and the man returns the embrace.

"Greta, thank god, I've heard so much screaming, I thought he was torturing you. What the hell is happening? Is he dead? Can we go?"

She is frozen, just staring at his face, eyes filled with life, a smile, relief and happiness and she thinks she almost forgot what that can look like.

Malcolm seems to notice she is staring dreamily, lost and he slows himself, gently touches her arms and is about to say something when his eyes seem to notice something and he grabs her wrist, holding up her arm to stare at the scratches covering it. He grabs her other arm and then raises up her shirt which Greta instantly jerks away from him before taking a few steps back.

"Greta, easy….it's okay….stay calm." she sees it in his eyes then, worry, fear…..pity...anger….disgust….too many emotions….at her? At what happened? At Brahms? She doesn't know but she doesn't like it and she points at the bowl, "Chicken….dinner. Eat. He's not dead, he only gave me ten minutes….not enough time for us to run. But I know where you are...he's starting to trust me….have you come up with a plan? Anyway out?" and she looks around the room, trying to distance herself from that look he gave, notices there are no windows.

"No...windows…." and she shakes her head, "He's always one step ahead….I have to kill him….no other way...I have to….have to…." and Malcolm steps towards her and she moves back again.

"Greta, please, what the hell is happening...what is he doing to you...did he….did he do that to you?"

It's a stupid question to her, of course he did, who else would-

She suddenly scoffs, surprise at the implication coming to her, "What? You think I'd do this to myself….why would you think-"

Malcolm suddenly steps forward, takes her by the face, "Look at me, love. Look at me! He is trying to take your mind apart one piece at a time. You warned me, said I would need to help ground you, that your might relapse into old habits...have trouble keeping your head above the water….well look into my eyes, do you see that? It's my sanity, it is strong, solid and real….don't descend into his madness, don't let him take you on the ride he wants to. Fight him, you told me you'd rather die than let him have you. I believed you, don't prove me wrong. Stay above water, breath, think of me, of the real world whenever you doubt…..it's an illusion Greta."

"I...no...I know….I know… I'm trying to hold on...but he is always one step ahead, he's….smart...smarter than we thought."

"No too smart, he is trusting you to bring me food...he's quick to trust."

"You think this is trust? No, this is a test….one I'm going to fail if I don't leave."

"Listen to me….listen….I have been working on a plan. It's a good plan but I can't tell you, can't take the chance he would….just...hold on…. A little bit longer….please...can you do it? Can you hold on for just a little while longer? Keep him busy….for a day...maybe two?"

Greta hangs her head, tears coming but she nods, wraps her arms around herself tighter and Malcolm kisses the top of her head, "Hold on for me. Please, just hold on."

He wraps her in a hug and she hugs him back, wanting to stay here, knows she can't, her times up and she pulls away.

"I love you." she whispers, because she wants to say it to someone, wants to hear someone else say it back in a way that isn't twisted and ruined.

"I love you too." he says softly and she smiles as she turns away, leaves the room. She shuts and locks the door, takes the key and heads back to the kitchen.

The numbness from before is gone, hope and anguish filling her chest and fighting for dominance.

The way he looked at her, her mind snarls at how angry it made her feel, her heart aches and she wishes she were dead. But no, she has to live, has to save Malcolm, save herself. She has come too far in this damned life of hers to just give up.

She is a fighter, won't abandon hope, she just has to stay strong and as she walks into the kitchen she sees Brahms has finished his dinner. He looks up at she walks in, sees the curiosity in his eyes as he studies her, looking for any indication she may have done something naughty.

He holds out his hand and she gives him the key before he presses his mask down, stands and leaves the room.

He is going to check, and Greta can do nothing but force herself to eat, to keep going. The chicken tastes heavenly but it weighs like a lead ball in her stomach and she doesn't enjoy it at all.

Brahms returns ten minutes later, coming to stand next to her, she glances up at him but then goes back to eating. Ignoring him probably isn't the wisest decision but she doesn't care. Maybe he will get mad and knock her out, then she can spend the rest of the night sleeping.

Her disinterest doesn't seem to phase him and Brahms places a hand on her head, "Very good, Greta."

She feels a little satisfaction, whether it is from his praise or from the fact that she has once again gained another notch on the belt of trust she doesn't want to think about it. She simply nods her head once, takes another bite and forces herself to swallow.

PAGE BREAK

To Greta's relief, Brahms leads her to the study and finds a book, handing it to her and taking up residence with his head in her lap.

She reads to him for an hour and then decides to try for music as well. He allows her to stand, puts on the record and for the next hour and forty-five minutes they sit in silence, letting the music blare around them and for once Greta finds it soothing.

The entire world blurs out around her, the music filling her from head to toe and she stares off, lost in her imaginings of what might be happening on the stage as the opera plays out.

Brahms continues to lay his head on her lap, fingers gently massaging her right calf as she threads fingers through her hair. She tries to pretend it's Malcolm, tries to pretend it's anyone other than the demon that has been torturing her.

Yet, all she can think is that his hand feels so good and she wishes he would touch her like that all the time. She would much rather feel him touching her gently then touching her painfully. Her mind abandons the Opera, focuses on his hand, gently kneading her calf, palm running along her shin, fingers tickling the back of her knee.

A small faint laugh escapes as her leg jerks a little and he tickles her faintly again, "Brahms, enough." she says sternly and the little boy laughs and abandons the spot to keep rubbing her calf.

 _Malcolm says he has a plan, which could include a way out, there aren't any windows in that room. How could he be planning to get out, how could he do it with Brahms coming and going….how could he escape….how will he get to me? He asked me to distract Brahms, keep him busy….for a day...maybe two….I could take him stargazing again…. But I'm so tired….my body aches...my mind feels like it's on fire._

Suddenly he tickles her again, brushing fingers past that spot and she is pulled from her thoughts as she laughs a little. As the music ends he sits up and she looks at him with question before his hands shoot out and suddenly Greta is jerking and laughing as he tickles her mercilessly.

Alarm bells of a different kind go off in her mind, the kind of alarm bells that come with being tickled and she wiggles and squirms, falls of the couch and Brahms pursues.

"S-STOP! BRAHMS HEELSHIRE I S-SWEAR, NO, STOP PLEASE!" and the laughter comes in tumbling waves as she jerks and tries to get away but he continues to attack her sides, finds her armpits and she literally squeals and then snorts.

 _Best fight fire with fire, darling._ Her mother's voice says and suddenly Greta's hands jerk out, finding his sides and the child laughs out, the sound so real and sincere, for a moment she honestly thinks Brahms is just a large child hiding behind a mask.

"I'm going to get you!" she says happily and it feels so good, as much as she doesn't want to associate positivity with this demon hell spawn the surge of chemicals the laughter brings nearly makes her feel high and she realizes she doesn't want to stop.

They struggle and tumble across the floor, each landing wiggling fingers, each squealing and laughing happily and it isn't until they are both panting hard and Greta is exhausted that they come to lay on the floor, her head on his chest, his arms holding her close.

"You are such a hand full." she muse, "And you're crazy as hell." she adds as she thinks about how they had gone from making each other bleed and cry to rolling around on the floor like five year olds. Her scratches burn, but for some reason, it doesn't bother her.

 _It feels good….maybe a mix of the adrenaline and endorphins from the tickling….mixing with the pain…._

Greta suddenly sits up, looks down at the burnt man next to her, his bandages surprisingly still in place despite their little game they just played and she thinks back to their afternoon in bed.

 _I don't like pain."_

 _You can learn to, Pretty Greta. Pain is weakness, if you embrace it, nothing can hurt you._

She looks at her fingers, where she cut herself, how it hadn't even phased her because it hadn't hurt near as bad as his nails had. She noticed how red they where, how they should feel sore but it just doesn't register.

 _I want to help you, Pretty Greta. If you'll let me. Don't be afraid. It only hurts for awhile, then it goes away...you'll be stronger after and it can feel so good._

Her eyes land on the stitches where she had stabbed him with a screwdriver, remembered his shock was short lived and that he had still been able to function through it. He threw her across the room, raised her off the ground, choked her out….was able to pull it out….not even flinch….

 _He's not immune to pain….but it doesn't phase him near as much as other people...he can still function…._

Her eyes look for the edges of the burns, reaches out a hand to slowly raise the mask and she runs fingers over his burnt flesh.

 _No pain could be worse than that, third degree burns…..kept in the walls….the infections….pain is nothing to him….._

She looks away then, down at her legs which are covered in scratches, ruddy red against her pale flesh.

 _I'd give anything to not feel pain anymore…._

Movement catches her eyes and she watches as Brahms raises a finger and drags a nail down her arm, Greta watching, feeling the pain as she sees the trace droplets of blood press out, but she doesn't hiss or suck in a breath, doesn't react at all and after a few seconds the pain doesn't register.

She looks at him, sees glee in his eyes and the words leave her lips before she can register what she is saying, "What are you doing to me?"

Brahms slowly sits up, cocks his head and leans over, pressing a kiss to her temple before he whispers in her ear, "Making you stronger."

Greta looks into his eyes as he pulls back, the man pulling the mask down over his face before he stands and holds out his hand to her.

Slowly Greta takes it, and as he raises her up to stand, she slowly begins to understand what this demons mind must be like.

 **A/N: There you go another chapter, only a few left, things are going to wrap up soon. Sorry about the bad editing, I was trying to get this thing posted.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hey all, not so sure I am happy with how this chapter worked out, but it is what it is. I've read through it like four times and can't seem to find a better way to do this. PLEASE READ ALL THE WARNINGS, THIS CHAPTER IS INTENSE!**

 **WARNINGS: SEX! LEMONS! MINOR NON-CON AT FIRST, NIGHTMARE SCENARIO, SINGULAR AND BRIEF THOUGHT OF SUICIDE, DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THIS BOTHERS YOU! PLEASE, CONSIDER THIS YOUR WARNING FOR THE CHAPTER BELOW!**

 **Chapter Seven**

 **Pity my Simplicity, Suffer me to Come to Thee**

It's odd…. _he_ is odd.

After having listened to music and reading Brahms had led her to his old bedroom, picking up the clipboard with the list and handing it to her. She realized there were still things they needed to do and Brahms was quick to push her to them.

She didn't understand his sudden investment back into the list since that morning he had been quite adamant about ignoring it. However, it seemed their _play time_ that morning, as Greta refused to call it anything else, had sated his often abrasive need to try and coax affection out of her.

If she thought about it, the situation could drive anyone crazy after only a few days. She had woken up and had several sexual encounters with this mentally unstable man child, a quick game of hide and seek in between and a little light torture on top. Then a disturbingly simple lunch of chicken followed by seeing Malcolm, who supposedly had a plan or a way of escape that he had been studiously working on. Then they had listened to music, read from a book and rolled around on the ground tickling each other as if they were children.

Now, as the clock moved towards dinner time Greta walked along the outside of the house with, much to her utter shock, a rather anxious Brahms. The sun was setting, and the world around them was a chilly faded twilight but Greta could still see well enough to do what she needed to do. This consequently took out two more items on the list, cleaning the traps and Brahms going for a walk at night with Greta.

They stayed next to the house, walking the perimeter and cleaning the traps, Brahms holding open the bag for her as she went. The one time Greta had moved away from the house to head towards the singular trap that was the furthest from the house Brahms had stopped her with a tight hand to her arm and she understood that they were not going to stray any further than this from the house.

Once it was done and the bag of rats was disposed of they had gone back inside, Greta making a light dinner of soup and sandwiches which Brahms ate and then took up to Malcolm as well. She had offered but he had ignored her and left the kitchen without a word, returning a few minutes later with a tray of the previous meals dirty dishes. Greta had thanked him, going to the sink to wash them quickly while Brahms stood right behind her.

He had leaned in as she washed, smelling her hair while a finger drew lazily along her back. She tried not to hiss when her shirt would rub against a scratch and for all the world Greta could not understand how the evening had transcended into something so peaceful and relaxed when the morning had been so brutal and traumatic. Why he was being so… well behaved. Not even Cole ever reached this level of calm, comparatively speaking, Cole had been a kitten.

The next thing on the list that they had not done was to shave Brahm's face and so she had pointed to it and he had given one succinct nod. She had led him to the bathroom and set him on the toilet, placing the list off to the side as she grabbed the shaving cream and the razor, running hot water over the blades before turning to him and kneeling before him.

"Buzz?" Brahms had asked and Greta shook her head, "You don't need a buzz anymore, if we keep up with the shaving then you will only need the razor. You need to hold very still and allow me to move your head, alright?" he had complied perfectly.

Greta had him smooth and shaved in only a matter of minutes, though she did not miss how his eyes rolled back into his head as she gently lathered up his face and fingers held his chin so she could move his head this way and that. It was the burned part of his face where she had to be the more careful and she gave him plenty of warning that the razor may catch skin and that he didn't need to worry.

Another single nod and not long later he had been shaved up. She had wiped his face clean with a towel and looked upon the handsome face of the psychopath who was currently controlling every inch of her existence and found herself unable to comprehend how someone so handsome could have gone so wrong. Not that looks defined sanity, Ted Bundy had proven that.

She had a feeling it had to do with more than just the fire, more than just his time in the walls. Malcolm had told her that even as a child, before the trauma he had been odd. And Greta, having now spent so much time with him, understood that while odd may have been apt for him as a child, it no longer was the best term.

Crazy or unbalanced, creature or demon, man child, monster had been Greta's go to terms in the past, but now, looking upon the face of her tormentor she wasn't so sure if there was a term that could be applied to what he really was. Because now, she just didn't know. He _was_ evil, a true psychopath, but sometimes….when his sanity shined through….that droplet of guilt would resonate in her core and the small shreds of her empathy would wish she could save him from this fate, from himself.

She was going to have to escape, and to do that with Malcolm, he was going to have to either be subdued or killed.

Her hand reached out, fingers faintly running along his untouched brow before sliding down his temple, across a cheek bone and to his lips, were her thumb gently rubbed before fingers dropped to his chin and ever so gently tilted his face up to look at her more clearly.

"Greta." he whispered, and at seeing his lips move and hearing his true voice so hushed and calm, his pupils dilating as they gaze at her and his hands grip his knees tightly she wonders if there is any hope in this endeavour to escape. Which one of them would prevail, who would kill who first...and in what manner?

She leans forwards slowly, bending over to press her lips to his in a very gentle kiss before pulling back and saying in a soft voice, "Good boy." Her forehead presses to his and she remains there for a moment, trying to work up the courage to move past this. She has to try and find a reason to let him live, because...well….she doesn't want to be a murderer...she doesn't want to kill anyone, even this….this….man before her.

 _I know I will, when the moment comes, I won't hesitate, just like with the screwdriver, when the time comes….if I have no other choice, I will end his life….but….but….I don't_ _ **want**_ _to...not because I care for him….but because….because...I don't want to become him._

Her eyes flutter open when she feels his hands slide across her cheeks, gently cup her face and he whispers out her name and then, "Please." before he cranes his head back and presses their lips together again.

There is no force, no aggression. In this moment, all he wants is a kiss and she gives it to him, sees no reason to fight it as there is no alterior motive that either of them have. That thought alone making her think of how dysfunctional a real relationship with this man would be.

She has no clue what he was thinking at any given time, and she had no clue if he really wanted her like this, or if he was toying with her, waiting for the moment to kill her. Perhaps all the mind games and torture were him taking his sweet time and savouring it. A psycho's version of foreplay before the main event of head bashing or exfixiation.

Still, his lips remained pressed to hers and she continued to allow it, too tired to find a way to use it to her advantage, though the razor was still in her hand and the split second image of her swiping his throat did come to her, though she ignored it as the depth of the cut would be nominal towards his demise and only set her back on the journey to gaining his trust.

After a few soft kisses to her lips he opened his mouth and she did the same, allowing his hand to slide across her cheek and into her hair, their tongues touching and breaths flowing between them. She noticed he wasn't following his normal routine of responses. His breathing remained even and relaxed, his touch tender and his mouth remaining an equal player and not trying to dominate the kiss.

Slowly she felt him pull her closer and once again she complied, knowing that at this moment there was no point in fighting. Part of her wished there was something she could gain from fighting, then at least it would be easier to want to break his hold.

Brahms spread his thighs a little further apart and pulled her onto his lap, Greta sitting there calmly as they continued to essentially make-out and explore each other's mouth. Brahms was still calm, still relaxed and as she sat across his lap when his hand slowly came to her thigh she didn't react. She focused on the kissing, on the fact that he smelled good and was warm and for now, this was a good option for gaining more trust.

He had let her go to Malcolm's room and deliver him food unsupervised, had gone outside with her today to clean the traps and trusted her with a razor near his face. His walls were dropping and so she allowed his hand to slide up her bare thigh, the cotton shorts she had put on earlier to try and minimize the discomfort from the scratches protecting her from nothing.

His hand continued to move, a palm gliding up her thigh slowly as she continued to kiss him and eventually fingers strayed up under the cotton fabric, no panties in the way, and they found her heat.

Greta had placed her arms around his shoulders when he had taken her up on his lap and as he gently pressed his tongue in a little deeper she tightened her hold, bracing herself for what she knew was coming.

Fingers pressed in slow, a shuttering groan echoing from his mouth into hers as Greta felt her sore entrance accommodate him. The activities earlier in the day had left her far too tender, yet for some reason, as his fingers found purchase inside her once again, the sore ache of it did not bother her, but did in fact, add a bit of pleasurable edge to it.

She turned her face from his but Brahms complained none as his panting mouth found her throat and started to lick and suck gently, "What are you doing to me?" she whispers as a small trickle of fear finally registers, the idea of pain and pleasure feeling so sweetly interlaced together making her worry about her own mental sanity.

"Whatever I want." Brahms said against her neck and it was the young man, his fingers rotating and gently pressing up against her tender spot, the area just as tired and sore as the rest of her yet, there was something compelling in that dull ache. Her mind slowly tilted towards the heady waters of sex and want, as it often did when she was more readily allowing Brahms his way.

"Alright." she whispered, unsure why she was so easy to concede when the comment itself was rather brazenly dismissive of her as a person.

 _He's a psychopath, his mental wiring doesn't allow for consideration, at least he is being honest about it. I suppose that should be a plus, maybe I can get him to-_

"That's good, Pretty Greta." he whispers into her ear before his tongue gently licks along her jaw and then bites softly at her shoulder.

His fingers work a little faster but maintain their constant pressure and Greta feels her body naturally reaching for its end. Her forehead presses against the side of his head, unruly hair touching and tickling her face as her eyes close and she submits to it.

She's panting, lets a soft moan slip past her lips and then she says without thinking, "Deeper, Brahms. Deeper." and he complies readily, pressing in harder, his fingers bending violently inside her over and over and seconds later she tips and her hands run up through his hair, her body giving gentle jerks and her muscles clamping around his fingers dangerously tight.

She feels his teeth bite down on her shoulder and for once he doesn't make a sound save for a small almost hidden whine and she rubs her face back and forth in his hair, nuzzling into it and inhaling the smell, feeling how soft it is against her face as she finally relaxes and comes down from her high.

"Greta-" he trembles out, his lips pressing to her ear as she gives a faint, "Hm?" in response before he whispers with authority, "My turn."

Her head pulls back a little, eyes finding his which are down cast and staring at her neck, and she can't tell if he is waiting for refusal or waiting for her to agree. Perhaps it is a little bit of both but at this point she knows denying him would be even worse for her and so she gives a soft kiss to his forehead and says, "Okay."

She shifts off his lap, settling down between his thighs on her knees and she reaches hands for his pants, undoing them and pulling his hard length free, "Mouth." he whispers as his head cranes back and he rests against the toilet behind him. His hands are on his knees but when she leans forward and her mouth slides onto him they instantly slide away, dropping to hang on either side of him as his eyes close and his mouth hangs open. He groans and whines, body twitching as she works him up to his peek.

He takes even less time then her to reach his end, but this time, Greta is ready as she resigns herself to knowing what will happen when he finishes. He's calling her name over and over and when she feels his length stiffen and gets the first pump of his seed in her mouth hands come to her head and wrap into her hair, pressing her head down so he can empty into the back of her throat.

Greta gags again but remains relaxed, knowing he has no intention of suffocating her on his prick.

 _He will finish shortly, just let him finish and he will let you go._

And as she thought, once the final jerk of his length came and the final spurt of seed hit the back of her throat his grip loosened and then slid away, his chest heaving as he stared at the ceiling and those hands once again hung on either side of him.

"Pretty Greta, beautiful Greta." he pants and then his arms raise, reaching out to her with twitching fingers and Greta leans forward, the side of her face coming to rest against his chest as his arms wrap around her and he remains seated on the toilet, seemingly spent.

She hears his heart hammering, can almost feel the blood jerking through his veins and as she closes her eyes she wonders what this man would have been like if he had been normal, if the seed of evil had not been planted into his brain when he had been born.

Would he be as tender as what she just witnessed? Could she have loved him if their paths had ever crossed? Would he have been like Malcolm? Kind and thoughtful, playful and funny? Would he have flirted aimlessly and teased her, held her when she was sad and made love to her under the stars at night?

This demented creature that was currently staking his claim to her soul was nothing like a normal man, and who ever he could have or would have been if he had been born normal, well, she supposed he had never existed so it didn't matter, but she imagined that if he had been born normal, this is what he would have felt like, what he would have sounded like, how tender and gentle he could have been.

"Greta-" he pants with an exhausted voice.

"Yes, Brahms?" she asks, still resting her face against his chest as his hands slide up to hold her head and he gently starts to rock her, as if she is some great treasure to him, "Cuddles Goodnight." he whispers and Greta whispers out a soft affirmative before closing her eyes again and savouring this moment when her heart is beating softly, her being is relaxed and for just a moment, she can imagine him as another Brahms entirely.

PAGE BREAK

He hears it through the wall, "Greta! Greta! Greta!" knows what is happening and tries to ignore it. His heart pulses with rage and disgust but he focuses on what he is doing as he gently pulls up another area of tile.

He has been aware for the past two days what is going on beyond his prison cell, knows what Greta has been allowing him to do to her in order to keep him occupied and to gain his trust.

A flash of Brahm's last visit playing in his mind as he works near silently on trying to loosen another tile.

 _Malcolm shifted the bathtub back into place, left the bathroom, closing the door and only leaving it open a crack as he moved to stand on the far side of the room. He had gotten really good at being quick about hiding his escape route._

 _The sound of the skeleton key in the lock giving him just barely enough time to appear as if he has been doing nothing but waiting._

 _The door swung open and Brahms stood in the doorway with a tray, soup and sandwich ready for him to eat. Brahms doesn't enter, simply setting it on the small table by the door before raising a hand and pointing at the small pile of dirty dishes that Malcolm had placed on another tray._

 _Malcolm slowly walks to it, careful with each step not to make any sudden movements and as he takes the tray and crosses to Brahms holding it out he asks softly, "How is she? Is she safe? Have you refrained from hurting her?"_

 _The brute just stared at him, eyes dead and cold before he said softly in his child's voice, "I made Greta sing and she likes it." and then he turned and left, shutting and locking the door behind him._

Malcolm may not have been privy to the metaphor but he knew well enough by what he had heard the last day or two what that could have easily implied. The scratches covering Greta's body another hint at the horrors she was going through under Brahm's perverse care. And the sound of him calling her name so readily had finally put to rest any notion that Greta had been able to avoid the sick and twisted demands of the creature that imprisoned them here.

It was silent now and since dinner had already come and gone he wouldn't be disturbed until morning. Tonight was going to be long, but if he could just keep it together, keep focused, him and Greta would be out of here soon enough. If she could just put up with it a little while longer, if she could just make it through….

"Hold on Greta, you can make it, you're strong, you can...you can suffer him, I promise this will all be over soon."

PAGE BREAK

 _She's walking through the halls, all twisted, malformed and dark. Candles line the floor and rest precariously on the edges of small tables Her eyes scan the dark as she follows the trail of dim flickering light. The wind is blowing outside the windows, tree branches scraping across glass as she grows uneasy. Her silk nightgown offers little protection from the cool air as her skin erupts in goosebumps as she moves._

 _The trail of candles lead her to the pool room, where she stands in the doorway and stares as Cole makes a shot, knocking in the eight ball as his hard eyes glance up. Her eyes look upon him as he stands and walks to the right side, preparing to take another shot._

 _He doesn't say a word, simply lining up the shot and shooting, dropping the number two ball into the pocket. Movement catches her eye and she turns to see Malcom leaning against one of the walls, a pool cue in one hand and a glass of amber liquid in the other, his jaw chomping loudly on a piece of gum as he watches Cole shoot._

 _Eyes jump back at the resounding crack of the cue ball knocking in the number eleven ball and Malcolm says casually, "Good on ya, mate."_

" _Thanks." Cole says and Greta's eyes jerk between the two, unsure what is going on as neither seem concerned with the other. That's when Greta notice's Cole's neck and the front of his shirt, the gash that rests there drooling out blood, sluggish and red as the strain spreads across his shirt._

" _It's a good color on him, don'tcha think?" Malcolm asks and she looks to him then, noticing the cut on his brow and the bruising on his face from where Brahms had laid heavy blows while they were running through the walls._

" _W-What...what's going on?" Greta breaths out, finally finding her voice._

" _Playing a good bit of pool." Malcolm says as he watches Cole sink the number four ball, "Yup." Cole suddenly says as he rounds the table and lines up for another shot, "Ya think she wants to play?" Cole asks Malcolm, his eyes jumping to the young man leaning against the wall._

 _Malcolm chuckles good naturedly, "I don't think she knows how, mate."_

" _Naw, I taught her. Then again, she doesn't like to listen to me. She's pretty damn stubborn." Cole says as he sinks another ball, his eyes glancing up to her again expectantly._

 _Greta doesn't say anything and Cole hums with surprise, "Seems she is learning though, kept her mouth shut this long."_

" _I don't know, I like when her mouths open, she says some pretty good stuff." Malcolm counters._

" _Where's…...Brahms?" she asks in confusion, a wave of dizziness hitting her as the room seemingly starts to undulate around her._

 _Malcolm and Cole both look at her and the brunette stands from the wall and sets his cue aside, taking a large sip of his drink as he walks over, "I don't know, I suppose wherever he wants to be. Ya can't really control someone like Brahms after all."_

" _I c-can." Greta says faintly, her eyelids seemingly too heavy to stay open, though she fights it._

" _Can you now? That's interesting, cause last I checked he had you on your back, in more ways than one." Malcolm says playfully, his eyes narrowing as he studies her, crossing an arm over his chest as he takes another sip from his drink._

 _Cole sinks the last ball before he rounds the table and approaches as well, standing next to Malcolm as he looks down at her, "You really can't control anything. You couldn't control me, couldn't control what happened two years ago, or what's happening now. It's an illusion, everything is an illusion."_

 _And Malcolm looks impressed and points a finger at him, "Damn straight."_

" _An…..I-Illusion?" Greta parrots, confusion growing as her head becomes even more foggy, trying to keep the pair of them in her sight yet unable to focus her mind or her eyes._

" _I don't know, Greta. You tell me." and Cole points behind her and she manages to turn her head over her shoulder, finding Brahms standing behind her in the hall, cast in shadows, the mask of the boy peering through and dead eyes staring._

 _Her mind clears at the sudden jolt of shock but she doesn't move or jump, she just stands there and stares at him. The tallest of the three men suddenly taking slow steps forward and coming to stand right behind her, his body pressing into her back as he raises a hand and gently strokes fingers down her cheek._

 _She turns her head back to the others, the blood from Cole's neck falling faster, the stain spreading as the cut on Malcolm's brow starts to drip and his bruises darken._

" _I….I don't...understand-" Greta pants, the fog returning as she tries to sort out what is going on, why this is happening and then Cole and Malcolm step forward, each placing a kiss on either side of her face before they both whisper, "You never will."_

 _She feels herself falling forward then but her arms remain at her sides, the feeling of it churning her stomach before she finds herself landing on a bed and slowly sitting up, looking around her bedroom, the lights off but candles filling the space._

 _Brahms stands in front of the door, dead eyes locked onto her as his chest slowly starts to rise and fall heavily._

 _She stares in horror, realizes he is getting excited and she goes to move but is stopped when Cole suddenly pops up on one side of the bed and Malcolm pops up on the other. They rest their chins on their folded arms as they look at each other and Malcolm asks, "Ya think she will enjoy it?"_

" _Hell if I know. Only one way to find out." Cole says as he looks to Brahms who slowly approaches the bed and comes to stand at the end of it._

" _Brahms?" she whispers out, hearing the tears in her voice though none fall from her eyes. He raises a knee and places it carefully on the bed, gently moving to place hands down and crawl towards her, then over her before hands press her down._

" _No, wait-" she says weakly, looking to Malcolm and then Cole who continue to simply watch in silence._

" _Brahms, wait, please wait-" but his hands trail down her body, stop at her knees before running backup, pressing her nightgown out of the way before hands slide to her bare thighs and gently pulls her legs apart._

" _Stop-" but her voice is a whisper and still there are no tears, she's not afraid, but something is telling her to try and resist on principle._

" _Ah, but it's inevitable. You can't resist him, that would ruin your chances of gaining his trust." Cole says._

" _It's a shame, I never got to do this, now, if we survive it's going to sloppy seconds for me." Malcolm says regretfully._

" _Awe, no good. Sorry, man." Cole says as he leans forward a little, as if to get a better view._

" _I kind of want to stop him, but...well...I want to see what happens next." Malcolm offers and Greta can't believe what she is hearing. Wants to call out to Malcolm to save her but her voice is finally gone, her hands moving on their own to slide up Brahms's chest and over his shoulders before wrapping around his neck._

" _There ya go, just relax. Always best when it's mutual." Cole offers and Malcolm raises the glass he is suddenly holding as he chews loudly on gum, "Cheers." he says._

 _A hand brings her face back from them and her eyes meet those cold dead orbs that stare out from behind the mask, "Pretty Greta, it's time to sing." and his hands run along her body, so gentle, so foreign and tender before she feels him shift and then she is being breached._

 _He moves slow, as if through molasses and the room swirls before her eyes as she stares up at the ceiling. Hands slide under her, holding her close as he gently rocks into her, the bed creaking rhythmically as he does though it's never made such sounds before._

" _Looks like he's gunna take his time for a change, want to go shoot pool?" Cole asks, his eyes finding Malcolm's and the man nods, "Sure."_

 _They stand and head for the door, Greta's arm reaching after them as they leave, Malcolm looking back and winking at her encouragingly as he goes._

 _Brahms's hand skims up her arm, drawing it back to rest around his neck as he continues to press in and out, slow and steady, Greta closing her eyes as she realizes this isn't going to stop._

" _Pretty Greta, won't you sing?" he asks softly into her ear and her eyes open to see his mask is gone and lips meet her own, his tongue pressing in and his movements speed up._

 _Greta makes a noise and the bed's creaking gets louder. She tightens her grip as a heat starts to burn in her stomach and Brahms brings a hand to her backside and gently digs in his nails._

" _Sing, Pretty Greta-" and he moves faster, harder, deeper._

" _I can't-" she mouths but Brahms doesn't seem to notice her lack of voice and the creaking grows more violent and gets louder as he starts to ram against her._

" _Sing!" He cries happily as he continues to wreck her, her nails digging into his back deep enough to feel the blood erupt under her fingers and she shakes her head at the mental image of what they must look like right now._

 _Teeth find her throat, bite down hard as he sucks wickedly and her back arches as he hums in delight. She doesn't want it but it comes swiftly, doesn't want to admit it feels good or that she is about to scream his name in ecstacy. But as the sound of the walls cracking from the brutal hits of the headboard reach her ears her head tilts back and her mouth opens in a silent scream as her body releases and hands come to her throat._

 _It's as if all life is returned to her and she grips onto his wrists as Brahms chokes her mercilessly, planting tender kisses to her face and brow as he whispers out his love for her._

" _Sleep now, Pretty Greta, sleep and be free-" her vision blurs and then fades as his grip tightens and she swears she hears her esophagus collapse in on itself._

Greta jerks awake, sweating pouring off her and fear causing her heart to pound viciously against her rib cage as she sits up and looks around. The feeling of moisture between her legs is the first thing she notices and she gasps and jerks a little at the very idea.

 _I...a dream….a wet dream….a nightmare…. A wet nightmare?_

She is confused and disoriented, the darkness around her feeding her discomfort as she tries to clear her head and focus.

"Greta?" a child calls and she jerks around in the bed, losing her balance and falling out of it. When she hits the floor she gasps and jerks up, stumbling around the room, the nightmare and the resounding disgust weighing heavily on her as she tries to orient herself in the dark.

"What j-just...happened….it was a dream...just a dream…..Cole? Malcolm? Brahms? Who, where are you, who's there?" she calls out suddenly, her vocal control seemingly just as confused as the rest of her as her voice cracks and a hand comes to her throat, a cough coming out as tears flood her eyes.

She's in shock, a mixture of fear that is paralyzing and arousal that she wants to deny desperately rushing through her body.

"He...he...we had...no...we didn't…." and suddenly hands where on her shoulders and she jerked back, her body slamming into the door, "Don't! Who's touching me, don't touch me!" she shrieks suddenly and she shields herself with her arms, pulling knees up to her chest and dropping her head.

"Greta, you had a bad dream." the child says softly and Greta slowly catches her breath, tries anyway, as the panic still sits like a cold weight in her stomach. She's gasping for air, shaking as the sweat cools and she grows cold and shivery.

"W-W-Where are my clothes! What's going...Brahms?" and through the darkness she finally sees him, kneeling on the floor before her, eyes locked onto her as he leans in and she wants nothing more than to back away.

"It's only a bad dream, Pretty Greta." and he reaches out a hand slowly, Greta feeling her fear twitch to life inside her and she goes to move away, "No!" she says in terror but Brahms is quick to grab her and pull her to him.

This is the first time she has truly struggled against him in days but Brahms does nothing but try to subdue her by pulling her onto his lap and wrapping arms around her, his legs jerking up and about her own before they both fall over and he holds her tight. She is locked in position and she starts to sob, trying to kick and shift against him. But he has her arms and legs locked up in his own and she screams in frustration before she says through her tears, "Just kill me, please, I don't want to fight anymore, I don't want to be scared anymore, just kill me! Kill me!" but even as she pleads Brahms does nothing, simply holding her struggling body in place against him until she finally relents and her body goes limp.

Her forehead rolls back and forth across the floor, tears flooding out and her breaths coming in ragged heaves.

"I'm never going to kill you, Greta. You're mine, to love and care for." the young man says with a smile and Greta feels anger surge suddenly, violently as she gives another thrash, "I HATE YOU!" and she knows she shouldn't have said it but once it had passed her lips she realized she wasn't going to be able to hold it back, "You are cruel, insane and damaged! I don't want anything to do with you and as soon as I get a chance I am going to kill you! I am going to cut you open and pull out your insides and paint the walls with your blood you wicked evil nasty little boy! I am going to burn the whole of you and make you suffer!"

It's the most ludicrous thing she had ever said but just imagining it makes her excited, the idea of the nightmare being over, of it all ending and knowing Brahms can never touch her again is so satisfying that she revels in it, even for just a moment.

Suddenly his grip releases and she makes to roll away but a hand comes to her chest and shoves her down. Brahms appears above her, eyes wide and sharp as he stares at her, seemingly in shock, but Greta just looks up at him and gives a smile, "I am going to kill you."

She expects him to hit her, choke her...to do something in retaliation but to her utter shock he simply raises a hand and presses up his mask before his lips suddenly descended upon hers and he kisses her.

Greta jerks and thrashes, her fists raining down on his shoulders before landing a blow to his face, the mask tumbling off and sliding away into the darkness. Brahms slowly turns his head back to look at her, before his hands suddenly take up her wrists in a brutal grip and shove them down above her head, his body shifting from straddling her to laying on top of her.

She remembers then, suddenly, they had taken another shower before bed, to rinse off, and Brahms had been rather stubborn about them dressing for bed. Now, as their naked bodies pressed together, Greta regrets not fighting more to wear pajamas.

Brahms smiles as he says, "I like when you talk naughty." and then he finds her lips again, pressing his tongue into her mouth and she continues to jerk, her legs suddenly spreading in hopes of getting leverage to press up off the floor and get him off her.

However, her thrashing stops when suddenly she feels the tip of his cock grace her entrance and Brahms instantly stiffens, a loud gasp shooting from his mouth and he breaks the kiss.

They both lay still, eyes locked and both looking shocked as it finally happens and a rather bad thought clicks into place in Brahm's brain. She can see it, like a puzzle piece, falling into place in his eyes and Greta rolls her head back and forth, "Oh god no." she nearly sobs.

"I-Inside…." he whispers as his eyes grown wide and Greta knows that her time of avoiding the inevitable was finally over.

Brahms's eyes stared into hers intently as he whispered, "Greta-" but he didn't say anything else and she wasn't going to explain it. Part of her hoped he wouldn't but as his hands gripped her wrists tighter she knew he was already preparing to do it.

"Wait-" she tries, knows she has to try at least once but Brahm's wide eyes just stare as his hips press up just the tiniest bit and the head of his length touches her entrance.

Greta isn't sure if it is because he is excited or terrified at the idea but Brahms suddenly starts to whine and groan, even pant and cry as he moved his hips a little more and Greta feels his length start to press in.

"Grrrrrreeeetaaaaaa-" he gasps and she panics.

A surge of adrenaline and fear hit her full force and somehow her feet find purchase and she gives a massive shove with her hips, propelling him off to one side and she rolls up onto her feet and stumbles for the door.

But arms wrap around her and she screams, "No!" and begins to thrash in earnest. The moment she had been so afraid of had finally come and despite having told herself she would most likely let it happen verse fighting it her mind and body seemed to have thoughts of their own.

Still, even as she jerked and thrashed like a fish out of water, Brahms dragged her back towards the bed, throwing her on before crawling on and dragging her back below him.

"No! Please! No! Brahms, don't!"

She hears him warning her, hears him speak her name several times, the young man trying to pull her out of her fit before suddenly his voice comes out in a ragged scream, "STOP IT! STOP IT RIGHT NOW, GRETA!"

She complies, laying there as he straddles her stomach, her wrists once again captured in his hands as her eyes close and tears pour out. She is breathing so heavily that she thinks she might pass out, spit and snot covering the lower half over face as she sobs quietly.

"I'll do it how you want." Brahms suddenly says as he gives a jerk to her wrists and Greta shakes her head back and forth as she cries, "I don't want to, please don't make me."

"I _want_ to, so do you, I know you do, don't lie!" Brahms bites out.

"Pleeeeease-" she cries and she feels his grip on her wrists tighten as he gives a growl and his face leans closer, "I want to be inside you, Pretty Greta. You never told me the truth you didn't tell me! Why didn't you tell me!"

"Because I don't want to!" Greta near shrieks and suddenly her wrists are pressed into one hand and his other hand grabs her face, "Look at me. Look! At! Me!" Brahms yells sharply, no sign of the boy, no voice of confusion. As her eyes open she sees those crazed eyes looking down at her with such focus as he jerks her chin again and she is made to meet his eyes.

"There is _nothing_ wrong with us! We are not filthy! I'm a good boy, you're a good girl! Mummy has no right to tell us otherwise! We can make messes and I can be inside you, that doesn't mean we are dirty!"

It's the longest thing he has said to her in days, and it would have shocked her to the core if she didn't realize he was mistaking her reluctance for shame and not the desire to avoid being raped.

Suddenly he presses his lips to hers, the snot and spit not deterring him at all as he presses his tongue into her mouth and kisses her hard.

When he pulls away he murmurs gently against her lips, "I can make you sing, it will feel good, we can make it feel good. Let me go inside you, don't fight me, pleeeease." he whines as he kisses her again before nails dig into her jaw and his lips press to her ear, "I've made you feel good, I've done everything you asked. I touch you right, we make such good messes. I promise, I will make it feel good, I'll make it all go away, it will just be us. Please, Greta, let's be happy."

It is the oddest thing she has ever heard him say, and even as her heart hammers and tears still spill from her eyes she hears that word echo in her head like a treasure shining in the distance.

 _Let's me happy…..happy….let's be happy….._

She lets out a small whine, another short sob before she takes a deep breath and finally gives one single nod.

He pulls back, looks down at her before kissing her again and his hands move to interlace with her own, their fingers locking together gently as he presses them down onto the mattress and above her head.

His breathing grows fast as he slides his body down hers, his knees slowly moving to press her legs apart before he comes to rest his length at her entrance once again.

"Slowly-" she whispers out and Brahms nods his head which is resting on the bed next to her own. His hips shift up and slowly he starts to enter her. He shutters and whines, his hands gripping onto her own painfully tight as he hisses and Greta realizes it doesn't hurt.

She's not a virgin, but that wasn't the kind of pain she had been worried about. That's when it occurs to her that she is still wet from that awful dream, the dream where she and Brahms-

"Ohmygod-" she whines and Brahms turns to nuzzle into the side of her face, "Shhh, it's alright, Pretty Greeeetaaa, it's beautiful."

He slides in further, presses in and groans as he kisses her cheek, leans his forehead against her temple and nuzzling gently.

He reaches her end moments later and she feels his length stretching her, pressing against her walls and filling her. She tries to think of someplace else and whens she can't she tries to imagine it's Malcolm inside her, but the smell of him is too familiar and she cannot find a way to hide from her reality.

She isn't sure if he is going to do anything else, for he spends a long while simply rooted inside her, not moving or jerking and he moans and pants into the side of her face before he seeks out her lips and spends time kissing her deeply.

It's not how she thought it would be, though in reality, she wouldn't have been able to predict how a regular man might act in the bedroom the first time let alone a crazy one. A hand leaves it's perch and comes to her face, a rough palm wiping at the tears, snot and spit, "Inside." he whispers, "Always inside." and then he returns to pressing his tongue into her mouth.

Greta knows the sooner he starts moving the sooner it will be over and so she summons her courage and pulls away from his lips, "You can move now, my body has adjusted." she says softly, the tears having slowed to a stop and his eyes stare at her, his head coking to the side.

"Move?" he asks and Greta chooses not the dwell on the level of ignorance he had just unwittingly admitted to.

"Move your hips Brahms, in and out, start slow." she says and he complies, having to brace his upper body with an arm above her shoulder as his hand cradles the back of her head. The instant he pulled out and pressed back in his eyes closed and a half sigh half whimper slide out from his lips.

"Keep going." she encourages and he complies readily. Greta counts her blessings for that awful dream now, like a prophetic message from God, as awful as it had been it had allowed for this to be much less painful as her body had been ready to accept him with little protest.

 _It could be a lot worse…._

And finally Brahms was moving in earnest, slow and steady thrusts that weren't to deep or hard but were quick enough to allow for a swift climb. Greta thought it might be over quick, and she could walk away far less traumatized then she had feared. Only, to her surprise Brahms did something unexpected and after a few more thrusts he pulled out.

Greta gave an odd look as she watched him but her curiosity was settled seconds later when he took her by the arms and pressed her over onto her stomach, hands coming to her hips and pulling her up, "I- why….I don't know why….but...I want-" Brahms was murmuring to himself under his breath and Greta instinctively spread her legs and leaned back, Brahms sliding back into her and his hands smacked on to her hips as nails dug in hard.

 _This is more what I expected-_

Greta hung her head as she waited for the aggressive thrusts to start but instead Brahms went back to his previous pace, nails digging into her skin firmly as he pressed in and out with a slow rhythm.

"Inside, inside, inside-" he panted and Greta felt his length moving inside her, felt the tip of it just barely grazing her sweet spot. The angle wasn't right but she wasn't so sure she wanted to-

Suddenly a hand came to her shoulders and pressed on her, when she didn't move a hand took her arm and jerked it out from under her and Greta's face was pressed into the bed. Brahms followed her down, laying his front onto her back and wrapping arms around her and that's when he hit it.

"Ah! Ah! Aah!" and Greta brought a hand to her mouth as her face erupted in red and the pleasure from each thrust was suddenly like a spark in her gut.

"Yesyesyes, sing, sing Pretty Greta!" and Brahms finally started to pick up his pace. A hand strayed down her belly, fingers finding her electrofied nub and messaging it as he rutted against her a little harder.

At the added stimulus Greta's cries could be heard through the hand she held firmly over her mouth, "Aah! Aah! Aah!" came like a drum beat from her throat and despite her fears of this first encounter going very badly it was turning into something that could be even worse for her mental state of mind.

Suddenly her hand was pulled from her mouth and her cries rang into the room before she yelled out, "HARDER!" to which Brahms eagerly complied and seconds later she fell, her mind going blank, eyes shutting so hard she saw white and her body jerked as her muscles clamped around his length.

She heard the near screech Brahms released as she came and when he went over seconds later she felt his length pulsing violently, swore she could feel his seed spilling into her though it was more than likely just in her mind. He jerked against her then, truly riding it out till the very last second before shoving in far too deep and Greta cried out, though to her relief the pain of such a violent intrusion swirled together with the fading pleasure of her climax and she nearly swooned.

Brahms instantly laid down, pulling her with him, still inside her as he held her to him far too tightly, her breathing near constricted as he whispered things into her ear, things that were dirty and wrong, but for some reason made her heat pulse and her heart shutter.

She was asleep seconds later, her body having gone through far too much, her exhaustion unlike any she had ever felt. Greta passed into sleep with Brahms still inside her, holding her too tight and whispering promises of more in her ear.

PAGE BREAK

She wakes up slowly, feeling well rested and to her shock feeling hair tickle her face. Her eyes open just a crack and she realizes she is laying on top of Brahms, his chest hair gently touching her face and heat emanating from his body into her own. She shifts a little, planning to move off when hands suddenly come to her back and keep her from moving.

"Greta? Are you awake?" the boy asks and even though it would be nice to play dumb she knows she can't fool him.

"Yes." she says softly, the day before weighing on her mind as she realizes her body feels like she had spent it out wrestling with wolves. Or had gone to a frat party party where things had gone horribly wrong. She was rested, but her body was unbelievably sore. Everything protested, everything screamed to just not move.

"Oh, I'm so sore." she whispered, feeling like she couldn't press herself up or actually move.

"You're sore?" the child asks and Greta nods once, not even wanting to talk as her throat stung a little bit, "All over."

"Hot bath." Brahms offers and Greta isn't sure if he means for her to take one right now or if it's simply the answer to her problem.

"Yeah. Maybe." she says as she tries to raise herself up again but her back gives a small spasm and she falls back onto his chest.

She lays there for a minute before saying with annoyance, "Breakfast is going to be late." though she doesn't really care about breakfast. All she wants to do is move away from him, images of the night before filling her mind. She can't believe it finally happened and that it hadn't been anything like she feared.

It went without saying that everyone's first time was different and it occurred to her that she had just taken Brahms virginity. The thought is almost fucked up enough to make her laugh though she refrains as a tear comes to her eyes and she realizes that it's finally come and gone, the moment she had dreaded for so long. It was done, he had taken her, it was…

Another tear dripped from her eye and down onto Brahm's chest but Brahms just laid there under her. His hands still holding her in place, his chest rising and falling slowly and Greta sniffed, "Brahms…" she starts, "It's time to get up." she tries to muster the desire to start the day, to get out of bed, to do anything at all aside from lay here with him.

"Not until I've been inside." she hears the child say and Greta shutters out a sigh.

 _Of course he'd want….of course…._

"Brahms, I'm too sore to…"

"I'll be gentle." and then he is pulling her up, bringing her head to rest on his shoulder as his arms gently wrap around her and Greta waits to see what he is planning to do. A hand strays down her back, his large hand pressing her legs apart and then she is quasi straddling him and seconds later she feels his length at her entrance.

She feels how sore she is, how utterly used her womanhood is as it protests the entry, she hisses and closes her eyes, "Brahms, please, slow….I'm sore….please." and he slows as she asks and over the course of a very long minute slides inside her and Greta shivers at the knowledge that the moisture down there is probably left over from Brahms himself.

 _I didn't go clean up after…._

As she lays there on top of him, her body utterly spent and the insane manchild beneath her once again reaching into her depths and shuttering as he does, Greta shoves away the thoughts of suicide that suddenly come to her head.

 _No, I won't….I am not so weak as to be unable to handle this….you've done it before….you can do this….find the right mindset, find the mentality that will allow you to suffer through-_

Greta takes a shaky hand and runs it up the side of his chest, fingers finding a nipple and giving a small pinch, Brahms jerking below her and his head tilting back as nails dig into her back.

He moves his hips slowly, very slowly, and part of her wonders if it is to accommodate her sore body or because he is trying to enjoy himself.

"Greta, will you sing?" He whispers out as his hands abandon their dagger like perch in her back and smoothly slide down do rub her skin.

Greta's voice is near horse when she replies with, "I don't think I can, Brahms."

"I'll help." And suddenly he is rolling and pulling out of her, Greta staring after his retreating form with confusion and worry. He moves down and suddenly presses his mouth to her womanhood, Greta giving a light gasp as she feels his tongue lick and suck so gently at her core.

She shivers and feels heat come to her cheeks as Brahms continues to give her womanhood attention. Her eyes close and she feels her body grow relaxed, her legs sagging out and fingers becoming limp as the silence of the house greets her and the feeling of his mouth does wonders towards silencing her tormented mind.

Brahms kisses and licks at her folds for a long time, hands perched on her thighs, fingers occasionally squeezing and Greta is so focused on the sensation of it that when he pulls away it takes her a moment to realize he is shifting back up to rest on top of her.

"Greta? Is it better?" the child asks and Greta simply nods once, her lips rolling together as she tries to remember that feeling, because it was the most relaxed she had been in days.

"Can I go inside now?" the child asks again and she nods, her eyes cracking open as she wants to be certain is it a man above her and not an eight year old boy. She sees the mask, realizes at some point in the night he must have retrieved it, and behind it, a pair of eyes that lay awash with too many things.

A hint of crazed desire, a drop of adoring fixation and perhaps a hint of affection, but it's all so faint, and those eyes, she swears if she survives this, will haunt her the rest of her days.

This time, when he presses into her, the soreness is more pleasant, more alluring as she is warmed and ready, and Greta sighs in relief. Brahms once again bringing his head to rest next to hers and the minutes tick by as he gently pumps into her. Groaning and whining as he does, one hand cupping the back of her head while the other takes up the back of her thigh and holds it out of the way.

"Oh Greta, my sweet Pretty wonderful beautiful Greta. Mine, forever, to love and care for. To love, and….care for….to love….forever and ever." and she tries to silence his voice but his lips press to her ear and he shutters out, "I'll never leave you alone, Pretty Greta, I will love and preserve you forever! Mine forever, love love love Pretty Greta." his hushed words slithering into her head and wrapping around that small droplet of sympathy she has for this wicked creature.

Her hand reaches and slides up his mask, pressing it off his face before it runs through his hair and she pulls gently, Brahms complying as her lips seek his and in this moment, for just a minute, he has won her and she surrenders. Their mouths open to each other and Greta wraps her legs around his hips, locks her ankles in place and she whispers against his lips, "Promise?"

"Oh yes, yesyesyes, forever, forever….Pretty Greta." and as he picks up his pace, starts to growl into her mouth and brutalize her womanhood with hard deep jerks Greta climbs to orgasm and falls over, Brahms following right behind with screeches and whines and she thinks, if she can't kill him, if she can't escape, if Brahms doesn't end up killing her and she is trapped here forever, maybe…..maybe…..this wouldn't be so bad.

 **A/N: There you go, not only did they finally do it, but Greta has officially slipped into insanity. Now, the question remains, can Malcolm pull her back? Next time, Chapter Eight, the chance for escape.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: Sorry this took so long. I have been setting up other stories and trying to plan out how to finish other stories on my FF account that I still haven't finished. This one is really close to being done, actually. I think only two or three chapters left. I've been updating and editing (essentially a full re-write) of my old Casper fic,** _ **War,**_ **as well as trying to finish the last two chapters of my other Casper fic called** _ **Body Snatcher.**_ **I have fifteen stories I need to complete, some of which have been sitting untouched for a few years. (winces) So thanks for being patient and waiting for the next chapter of this story as well as all your wonderful reviews.**

 **P.S. I can't remember if they ever gave the Heelshire's (parents) first names or even mention them and I have no access to the movie to check and can't find anything online so I am making up first names. If you know their first names let me know and I will change them to the correct names later. For now, I am going with Winnifred for the mother and Lewis for the father. I wanted to give fair warning, this story doesn't have a happy ending and there will be a major character death, sorry. So, no real spoilers as to who but just wanted to give you a heads up. It's a horror story, so, yeah enough said.**

 **WARNINGS: SCENES OF A SEXUAL NATURE NEAR THE BOTTOM, SORT OF NON-CON BUT MOSTLY JUST SITUATIONAL. NO BLOOD OR GORE.**

 **Chapter Eight**

 **Fain, I Would to Thee be Brought,**

 **Dearest God, Forbid it Not**

Malcolm's biggest fear in all of this was that he didn't know for sure what exactly was under the bathroom. Having come to deliver groceries and other such things over many years he knew the layout of the ground floor like the back of his hand. But over the years of coming to the Heelshire's home, it was few and far between that he had ever come upstairs. He had only spent time up here since Greta had come and it had been very brief.

With the Heelshire's gone, Malcolm had felt more comfortable exploring the house, especially since he had done so on behalf of Greta and her fear of an intruder. He had checked everywhere, looked in every room, the basement, all the closets, and bathrooms.

Still, even though he had searched the house over for her he could not recall enough to figure out what room was under this. He went over it in his mind, thinking that up the stairs and to the right would place him just over the kitchen but he couldn't be sure as the stairs turned. If he was correct in his mental map the only chance he would have to go through to the floor below would be at night.

He had been determined yesterday after dinner to work through the night and get to the point where he could try and cut through the plaster that was attached to the rafters of the room below, just a small little hole that he could peer through.

His fatigue was gaining on him and Malcolm found he needed to stop and rest, taking small naps to avoid suffering from lack of true sleep. It was in the early morning hours that he had stopped in horror. He had heard, through the silence of the house, noises that made him sick to his stomach.

Malcolm knew what was happening, had nearly vomited at the very idea and the sounds the pair were making. They were at the other end of the long upper hall, yet the house was so silent he had still managed to hear, though it was faint, the sound of Greta and Brahms and what he was doing to her.

It was a mix of rage, disgust and utter sick that swirled in his stomach and mind, yet little could be done. If he tried to go through at that moment, though Brahms would obviously be distracted, he couldn't take the chance of the deranged psycho hearing him, or worse, coming to the kitchen after for water or food.

It killed a part of his heart, perhaps a part of his soul to stop working on his escape due to fear of being found out. And after several minutes of hearing the faint noises he had to cover his ears in hopes of blocking it out, but getting caught now would not due.

After a while, he had uncovered his ears and listened to hear all was silent and he hoped, no, he prayed hard that Greta was alright. While he knew her mental scars and traumas were going to run deep, he hoped physically Brahms had not done so much damage that she was in pain or bloody.

He felt so useless, so utterly pointless in his existence as he could not spare her the atrocities she was bearing that part of him wanted to give up. He would be lying if he said he hadn't stared at his makeshift tools and thought of different ways he could end his life.

Yet, he would always return from these dark moments with thoughts of Greta. At this point, his feelings for her were a moot point. She would not be looking to fall in love, to be with him. She would need years of healing before she could or would ever want to reach out to another if she ever did at all.

No, the only thoughts he had left were for survival, both his and Greta's. And Malcolm knew, even if he made it out of this room, managed to find Greta and try to make an escape they would have to get through Brahms. And given how weak he was, and how abused Greta was being, the only thing they could count on was their adrenaline and will to survive.

It was nearly dawn and soon enough both Brahms and Greta would wake, he had time to do very little else so, feeling exhaustion weighing heavily and knowing all he had left was to cut a small hole through the plaster Malcolm decided his best bet was to get sleep. He moved the bathtub back over his large hole, cleaned up and hid his tools under the sink.

He left the bathroom and shut the door behind him, going to the small bed and laying down. He wanted to keep working, but he needed to rest, needed to allow his mind some time to process how this was all going to happen.

Once he was through the floor and out of the locked room all he could do was find a weapon, any weapon, and seek out Greta. Leaving to go for help had been a thought, stealing away into the night and returning with police. However, the small town he lived in did not have a station, they had one lone policeman, a man who was overweight and would definitely want to call in back up.

His name was Bear and while he was a good officer, Malcolm doubted the man's ability to do much in the way of a rescue. Still, he would have a gun, but if the two showed up Malcolm had no doubt Brahms would pick them off one by one. He also still had hold of Greta and the chance Brahms would use Greta against them or hurt or kill her out of spite was an all too real reality.

Too much could go wrong, and the same could be said if he ran to get help and Bear called in reinforcements. A large group of policemen charging in could scare Brahms into doing something rash, once again harming or killing Greta. Every time his mind urged him to escape and go for help all he could imagine was Brahms's reaction and the fact that Greta would inevitably become collateral.

The only way for both of them to survive was to make it out on their own and then send police in to try and track down Brahms. Malcolm and Greta had to make it out first, then the police could deal with the psycho.

So despite his desire to continue with his excavation Malcolm would wait one more day, hope and pray that Greta could last one more day. And tonight, after he had rested after he had come up with a plan, he would cut a hole to see what lay beneath and then he would make his move.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Greta scrubs along his back and shoulders. She gets him as soapy as possible, without any thought at all, she spends time cleaning the scars and deep pockets of folded skin on his back. Brahms says nothing as she does this and gives no sign if the infected areas burn or sting. A hand gently presses him forward, allowing water to rush over the soapy areas and Greta cleans everything.

She then asks him softly to turn around, the young man complying and she cleans his front, including his genitals before standing and telling him to rinse.

Once he is clean of soap Greta cleans herself, including her hair and between her legs. Despite everything that has happened Greta finds herself no longer lamenting. It is just another morning, and she has plenty to do today. The hot water feels like heaven on her sore body but after soaking her muscles in the heat and giving a few gentle stretches she feels better.

Upon exiting the shower Greta takes care to dry Brahm's back properly and make sure there is no remaining water that could help the infection grow. She then crosses to the medicine cabinet and scans the items inside.

That's when she sees it, a lotion that is medicated and she grabs it, showing it to Brahms, "Is this what your mother uses on your back, Brahms?"

The man nods but says nothing and so Greta takes off the lid of the jar and moves to stand behind him, gently rubbing the medicated lotion onto his back, being sure to put small amounts into the pockets of the folded and scarred skin.

Once done with that Greta sets the jar aside and takes Brahms by the arm, gently turning him around. The mask has been in place the whole time, even while she washed his hair. She gently presses it up and Brahms gives no protest, gently she rubs fingers along his burnt face, feeling for hairs and seeing he doesn't really need a shave today.

She gently pulls the mask down and thinks a moment, realizing she hasn't checked his stomach for a while. She kneels down without thought and looks at the wound. It is healing nicely despite the fact that the stitches have gotten wet and the fact that Brahms has been extremely active. Gently touching around the area she looks up to him, "Is it sore?" the young man gives the faintest shake of his head and Greta nods with satisfaction.

"Good. Come on, breakfast time." she takes his hand and guides him out of the bathroom and towards the bedroom. Greta dresses, the thought of walking around naked no longer phasing her as Brahms sits on the foot of her bed and watches.

Once she is ready for her day she turns to see Brahms still sitting there with nothing but a towel around his waist, "Come on, don't want you catching a cold. Brahms, I want you to go to your special room, get dressed and bring me your dirty clothes. Can you do that?" she asks, once again without thought and Brahms nods once, "Good boy, meet me in the kitchen. I will start breakfast." Brahms nods again before he stands and moves towards her closet to enter the secret door.

He leaves her alone, unattended, but Greta simply turns and heads for the kitchen, she doesn't think of escape or trying to speak to Malcolm or anything for that matter besides the fact that it is time to make breakfast and start their day.

She is in the process of making scrambled eggs and bacon and thinking about the fact that they would need to get groceries soon when Brahms came in, dressed in trousers, his usual white tank top under a robe, feet bare and arms holding a small bundle of dirty clothes.

"Thank you, put it over there on the floor and I will wash them after breakfast," Greta says, motioning to the floor by the door and Brahms complies. Greta continues to cook when she feels arms wrap around her and Brahms mask pressing into the side of her head. He takes a deep breath, seemingly smelling her before he whispers out her name and Greta finds herself giving a soft smile. She places her free hand over his arms and says with a smirk, "Someone's cuddly today," to which Brahms simply gives a small grunt of acknowledgment.

"Are you a happy boy today?" she asks absentmindedly as she continues to stir the sausages in the pan and carefully begins browning on both sides.

"Yes, Pretty Greta. Happy happy happy, so much better than the others," he says softly into her ear and then his hands gently cup her breasts and squeeze before he nuzzles into her neck and presses the porcelain lips of the mask to her neck and makes a kissing sound.

Greta's eyes raise up from her cooking to look at the wall before her a stray thought coming to her mind, "Brahms?"

"Yes, Pretty Greta?" he asks, his hands sliding away from her breasts to knead at her hips softly.

"You said there were others before me. You killed them, right?" she asks, her mind still mostly blank, her body still relaxed as his hands continue to wander over her but do little else, and a whispered, "Yes." is pressed into her ear as he once again inhales her scent and shivers.

"But...you won't kill me?" She asks.

"Oh no, Pretty Greta, you are mine to love and care for." he cooed, pressing his front against her back and she once again feels his arousal. She's used to it, realizes he is very easily aroused but often doesn't act on it. Over the last few days she has slowly figured him out, shock and fear were not allies to her. No, the only way to keep Brahms's desire for sex to the minimum was to never show fear, _that_ is what got him truly in the mood, everything else was just his body reacting and the drive to go further had never really been as strong as she thought. No, she had been right all along, she _could_ control him with her sexuality, but to do so, she had to remain calm and relaxed no matter what he did to her or however he tried to rial her.

"Why?" she asked, it was a simple question but the answer was something only Brahms had.

"Because I chose you." he whispered softly into her ear and goosebumps erupted over her skin at the sound of it, "I can see you, Greta." he whispered and her heart picked up in fear, "I see _everything._ Your inside matches mine, we are the same."

Greta turned off the heat of the stove and thought for a moment about what Brahms just said, _we are the same._ She turned in his arms, his hands gliding over her body as she did and their eyes met. She looked into those silver eyes, dead and dull, yet, she noticed as they met her own after a second that the dullness faded a little. His eyes seemed to narrow just barely in what she would consider affection.

"We aren't the same." she said softly, "I don't like to hurt people, I don't even like to hurt you. Everything I have done was so I could survive you, survive this. You do understand, I know you do, you are much more intelligent than you act. You understand that when someone like me is put into a life-threatening situation...that person will do whatever is necessary to survive."

Brahms continued to stare, doesn't say anything at first and Greta sighs at his lack of response, he had been talking so much more, communicating his thoughts. He _could_ speak, and had been doing it more and more, especially when he wanted Greta to submit to him. But whenever she asked him something directly he often gave little to no response or spoke cryptically. She closed her eyes and despite herself, she laid her head on his chest, "I wish you weren't…" but she couldn't bring herself to say it.

It was a pointless thought. If Brahms wasn't how he was now she never would have been offered the job to come here. He would have been off living a normal life, with some fancy wife that fitted into the wealth his family apparently had. She'd still be in the states, Cole would be alive, she'd still be trying to avoid him. None of this would have happened because Brahms would have been normal. He probably wouldn't even be living with his parents.

He'd have gone to some fancy school, been a lawyer or investment broker or politician, and had two perfect kids and a beautiful house in the country or penthouse in London and he'd have been happy and normal.

It was only because of who he was that the events had led to the need for a nanny, for his parents to escape. She wondered what they were doing now if they were filled with guilt and shame for leaving her to this hell. If they were happy because they were free of their insane son who killed people so readily. She wanted to hate them, wanted to feel such resentments for them but honestly, she just felt pity. She understood why they wanted to go, that after spending most of their lives caring for Brahms, it was as if their turn was over and Greta's turn had begun, they had tapped out and tagged Greta to enter the ring and face him.

Hands glided up her back, a hug encompassing her for a moment before fingers came to her face and guided her to look up at him, those silver eyes once again meeting hers as the young man finally spoke, "We _are_ the same. We've both faced abuse, neglect, trauma and I saw it, when you made the bad man silent, you were grateful. You _enjoyed_ making him silent, enjoyed facing him. You were powerful, strong and perfect. Your rage was beautiful, it is beautiful. _You_ are beautiful. A broken doll that I will piece back together, I will make you stronger, make you see the beauty of your fire. And with that fire, you can burn anyone who tries to hurt you."

Greta had listened carefully, hearing the soft voice of the young man, as he whispered this to her, so soft and slow, his words come easy for a change instead of seeming to be forced out, his mind supplying him the words he needs without fighting to rush out.

She wants to call him insane, tell him that he is foolish to think he can change her but she kept her mouth shut, pressed her face more firmly against his chest and tries to take the comfort she desperately needs from his arms.

"Breakfast, Pretty Greta. Breakfast, the list and then we make a mess inside you. Yes?" and she looks up at him, red coming to her cheeks as discomfort swelled inside her yet her lower region responded to such a lewd comment. A thought occurring in her mind as she locked eyes with him, "Brahms, when you first realized you could go...inside me...you said something...about not having to cut me to get inside...did you...with the others...did you...did you ...cut them open?" she asked, swallowing thickly.

Brahm's eyes seemed to sparkle a little and the boy giggled, "I made them quiet, I went inside them and painted with their insides. They were mean, nasty, said bad things to me when mommy and daddy left the room. They abused me, neglected me, so I abused them. Mommy was mad, daddy was upset, but I was right. If you hurt someone, you get hurt back."

"Do unto others," Greta whispered.

"Yes, Pretty Greta, mommy said so, you said so...always do unto others as you'd had done to you."

"So you hurt them because they hurt you," Greta said though she knew there was a massive difference between simply hurting someone and killing them, part of her understood his logic. As broken and unsound as it was, she understood that Brahms felt justification for all his actions. Even if they were wrong.

"Come on, let's eat before it gets cold." Greta turned away from him, Brahms still keeping his hands on her as she divided the eggs and sausage onto three plates and then the pair took the plates to the table. Brahms taking Malcolm his plate while Greta ate. It usually took about ten minutes for him to climb the stairs to get to the room unlock the door to give Malcolm his meal and return.

As she ate slowly and waited her mind wandered back over the night before. Her emotions faded a little as she thought about the dream she had, about the fact that she and Brahms had finally had sex but despite her fear of being traumatized by the event she clearly wasn't. Brahms was actually a gentle lover. Well, he had been last night and this morning. There was no telling if that would change, but Malcolm said she only needed to keep Brahms busy for a day or two and then some great escape plan would occur. Yet, as she thought about what had happened the night before, and this morning, she realized that she could honestly keep Brahms busy as much as needed as long as Brahms remained as he was.

She had built up some idea in her head that sex with Brahms would be violent, bloody, that he would hurt her in hopes of raising his arousal. And while Greta had no doubt eventually Brahms might explore the idea of causing her pain during sex for his perverse pleasure he had not reached that point and so if Malcolm was true to his word she might be out of this house and heading home before he could ever move towards more dark and demented waters of sexual gratification.

 _But what will you be going home to? And empty apartment, getting rehired as a nurse, seeing all those women with their children knowing you can never have one of your own. Cole took your child away from you, but he also took so much more, my Brahmsy can give you everything you want. A child and a lover, the best of both worlds._ And Greta's chewing mouth slowed to a stop as Mrs. Heelshire's words rang in her head.

 _A child...and a lover…._ she thought as she realized that as twisted and insane as it was, Brahms could _technically_ give her everything she ever wanted. More often than not he had the mentality of a child but proved he had the ability to use logic and reasoning. He could be her protector, could give her affections and attention.

 _Greta, no dear, don't think like that. He may seem tame now, but they always want more, they always need to push to that next step as the thrill of their most recent deviant behavior dulls and grows boring. He will continue to push you, ask for more, eventually, he will hurt you, kill you, to sate his dark desires…_ her mother chided and Greta shook her head, she wasn't thinking clearly. Part of her had just considered embracing her tormentor in order to get some fake semblance of the life she had been denied.

 _It feels good, doesn't it? Not fighting anymore? Giving in to me? Let me be your child, let me be your man. Let me show you your fire, let me be your light._

Greta stood violently from the table, the sound of Brahms's voice in her head suddenly shocking her out of the strange quasi contentment she had felt all morning. Panic set in and fear sent shock waves through her.

"No, not his voice, not him. You can't go insane right now. You can't let him get to you-" She cried through clenched teeth.

 _I've already gotten to you, Greta. I am here now, with all the others. And I am never going away. I will help you, let me help you, Pretty Greta. Be with me, like you want to. Stop fighting._

"No! Get out! It's a lie, I don't-"

 _Pretty Greta, don't be scared. I'm here, I understand, we are so very much the same…_

Greta suddenly shrieked at the sound of the boy in her head and she abandoned her breakfast moving fast out of the kitchen down the hall towards the front door. She had meant to try the doors days ago, having only exited the house through the balcony or kitchen or the kitchen to change the traps. Both of them had remained unlocked and so she had not ever tried the front door.

As she passed the stairs she heard Brahms call to her, the boy sounding confused, "No, no no no no-" Greta muttered as she reached for the knob she noticed it didn't give. She pulled at it, twisted it angrily before she felt a body slam against hers and she was pressed against the wood of the door.

"What are you _doing_ Pretty Greta?" The young man hissed in her ear and Greta stilled, her breathing was coming in fast pants and her heart was hammering in her chest but all she could do was press her forehead to the cool wood of the front door and let out a soft sob.

Brams placed his hands over her own, pressing them flush against the wood before she felt the cold porcelain of the mask press to her ear, "You'll not leave." he hissed out angrily, "You can't. You know you can't. You may want to, but there is nothing for you out there. Not now, not after everything you've done-"

"What have I done?" She asks defiantly.

 _You asked me to help you, Pretty Greta, I killed Cole because you asked. You defiled his corpse and you liked it. You let me make a mess ...inside you ...you're dirty, filthy, just like me...so much blood ...blood everywhere._ The boy's voice giggled in her head.

"I'm not ...I'm not dirty…" Greta whispered in response and she felt Brahms still a little, press the mask closer as he whispered, "Not to me. You're beautiful, perfect...you'll see. Tonight will be perfect."

"Tonight?" Greta asked as the boy continued to giggle in the back of her mind and her nails dug gently at the wood of the door. Brahms's fingers came to thread with her own before he gently pulled her away from the door, "Tonight, the truth will be told." The boy giggled and Greta shivered.

"What truth?" Greta asked as she sniffed and used her arm to wipe at her eyes, "Your truth, your fire. It all comes down to tonight." Brahms said secretly and Greta stared at those silver eyes with worry, she didn't understand and probably wouldn't figure it out until it was happening.

As Brahms turned and led her back to the kitchen she didn't notice how his face was looking towards the upstairs, towards the hall where Malcolm was being kept.

 **PAGE BREAK**

Brahms paid special attention today, he had too, Greta had tried to run, but it did not seem to be from him. He had been confused, but able to calm himself. She had calmed when he did. She reacted to him just like he reacted to her.

He watched as she did laundry, watched as she cleaned the kitchen, watched as she read to him as well. He kept his touches tender, he was gentle ...so gentle ...mummy would be proud of him. He had to be patient, had to be calm.

Something was off, but he can't tell what and it bothers him. Something had changed, she is anxious, nervous, twitchy. It makes him excited but he stays calm, forced calm and focuses on her so tightly he sees little of his surroundings as they go about their day. He rests his head in her lap as the music plays and she threads hands through his hair and all he wants to do is touch her, be inside of her again and wicked thoughts come but he ignores them.

He knows how to be now, a little pain with lots of pleasure, droplets of fear mixed with tenderness, punishment only when it is needed never just for the sake of it. This is how he will win her.

He wants everything, mind, body, and soul. He watches as she stares off, her eyes growing duller by the day, her body has given in to him long ago but her mind is still not his, hanging on by a thread to something else.

Her soul, he can hear her soul crying, weeping for salvation and Brahms will give it to her, he is such a good boy, he knows how.

 _She is yours to love and care for…._

Tonight is the night, he must do it right, must make sure Greta's ready. And when it's over he will wait…

 _You must be patient Brahmsy…._

Greta will come to him or she won't but he knows she will come, can feel it. Tonight his Pretty Greta will learn the truth. Though he worries the shock of it will make her act on instinct, she must be more focused than that.

He will have to speak today, a lot, he will need to use his words. He must find a way to calm his mind so that the words come, show he can understand. He must bring her closer, pull her in so that when truth time comes she won't hesitate.

He's watching her now as Greta makes lunch, eyes still honed in and as she turns to him she says softly, "Brahms, I am going to go to the bathroom. I will be right back." he nods, says nothing, save for giving a childish giggle and the barest hint of a smile comes to her lips, he wonders if she knows.

He waits a few seconds and then follows, silent as the grave, and listens outside the door as she goes to the bathroom, waits to see if he can figure out why she is so different today, try to figure out what made her run.

He is rewarded after a few seconds of silence, he is a good boy after all and always gets rewards.

"Damn it, stop, get out of my head." he hears her whisper.

Who is tormenting his Pretty Greta now, who must they quiet together? He hopes it's Malcolm.

He hears his Pretty Greta hiss and then kick at something before she groans, "Shut up, your not him, it's not actually Brahms, your just me, I'm talking to myself! Shut it off, just shut it off!" and the boy nearly giggles in delight, for this means so many wonderful things. He's closer than he thought, his voice is strong, he knows it, daddy told him once how strong his voice is.

This will help him, and she will learn to like it, learn to like everything. He moves away, heads silently back to the kitchen, glancing down the hall to Malcolm's room and noticing how quiet he is.

 _He's sleeping dear boy, don't forget to check progress, count your measures, make sure your timing is perfect. Always be ready._ His father offers and Brahms nods his head as he makes it back to the kitchen and sits waiting.

Greta walks in seconds later to find him sitting in his chair silent….

Silent as the grave.

 **PAGE BREAK**

After lunch they do more laundry, empty the traps and Greta cleans up her room and changes out the bedding. That is followed by also changing all of Brahms bandages from their scratch fight and she is glad to see he only needs one now, for the rather deep scratches that had been made on his chest. She checks her own, none are infected and they are already starting to either lightly scab or fade.

Once that's done Greta stands in the upper hall, unsure what to do, it's the first time they've ever made it through the list without being distracted by Brahms's wants. She stands there confused before she goes to Brahms's room and picks up the list, scans over it and realizes there is one item that they had yet to do since she remade the list.

With worry in her eyes and slightly shaky hands, she turns and points to the one they have been ignoring, her mind never once thinking of it due to all the crap that kept happening every day.

 _Allow Greta alone time._

Brahms looks at it, cocks his head a little before those silver eyes land on her and she asks so softly, "Please?"

Reaching up a hand he presses his mask up and leans down before whispering, "Have fun, Pretty Greta." and he kisses her gently on the lips and moves out of his room and down the hall.

She's shocked, stunned, flabbergasted and her heart swells as she spins and calls, "Thank you, Brahms, behave while I am gone." and she heads quickly to her room. She digs through her luggage, objects that seem odd or even foreign as they haven't really been touched since that night nearly a week ago.

She finds her old iPod, the thing has seen better days but it works and she digs for her headphones before plugging them in and turning it on. She doesn't care what plays, she just needs something that is normal. Something she knows will give her some form of escape.

She can't go to Malcolm, she can't go outside, not without Brahms close by, but she can take this time for herself. Relief floods her as the music plays and she goes to her bedroom door, shutting it softly as she gently moves around the room.

The music is so familiar, so not a part of this life she is currently living and she spies a magazine from under the edge of her bed. She reaches down and takes it up, desperately looking through it. Wanting to see these printed images of other people in other lives and she soaks it in like a dry sponge thrown into a pool of water.

She's already read this one, the first week she was here actually but she spies the splashy colors, see's the people, reads their stories again. She finishes it in a half-hour, reading so fast she skips sentences and words but not caring.

Her other magazines seem to be missing and so she leaves her room thinking they might have found their way to Brahms's room, lord knew, that man had no issues with taking her things.

She didn't see them in his room and so continued down the hall, the music blaring in her ears and Greta singing along gently. It felt good to not have Brahms hovering and yet it felt odd to be walking alone, not feeling his hands on her. He had kept their physical contact near-constant and now that he was not there a feeling of missing the warmth of it came to her.

Greta shivered and rubbed her hands up and down her arms as she checked room after room. Still, no sign of her magazines and she wandered if Brahms took them into the walls. She'd check after her alone time was up, for now, she wanted to savor this.

It was when she came to the Heelshire's bedroom that she caught sight of one. She had been glancing around the room when she saw the last one she had read sitting on a desk.

Crossing the space she smirked, "Found you." but her eyes were stopped by the sight of a red leather journal sitting the desk with a small piece of paper that read, _Greta._

Her brow furrowed as she set her magazine aside and picked up the book, checking the backside of the note only to find her name was the only thing inscribed on it. She slowly walked to the bed, looking the red book over before she opened the cover and her eyes grew wide.

On the inside of the front cover was a short note to her and her eyes read it quickly.

 _Miss Evans,_

 _I do hope you find this before the truth is revealed. I am so very sorry that things have come to pass as they have. I regret having to lay this burden upon you. My wife and I had hoped it would never come to this but we can no longer live with the burdens of what we have done. Both this home and Brahms are yours now, to love and care for. I only hope my wife's journal will help you through the difficult transition. I do not think he will hurt you, I dare say he spoke nothing but desire and praise for you to remain with him. Be stern but kind and take lessons from the stories here-in and I think you will find happiness within these walls. We did. The very best, and may God have mercy on us all._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Mr. Heelshire_

Greta's hands shook and her mind was a blank unreadable slate. She couldn't hear the music anymore, and her legs gave, leaving her to sit on the floor next to their bed. She read the message again and then the rage came and she threw the book against the wall, "Bastards!" She yelled.

Pulling her knees to her chest and wrapping arms around she sat quietly and tried to keep her emotions under control.

 _Read it, sweetheart, it may help aid you in an escape. It may help you with_ _ **him.**_ Her mother's voice cooed.

 _At the very least, maybe you can control him better._ Her sister's voice offered.

 _My husband left you a lifeline, you ungrateful dirty thing._ Mrs. Heelshire admonished.

 _Reading mummy's private journal, that's naughty, Pretty Greta._ And the boy giggled.

Her eyes raised from her knees and she glared at the thing before slowly crawling over to it and picking it up. She stood on shaky legs, pulled her music from her ears and went back to the bed. She sat on it, took a breath and began to read.

 **Page Break**

Greta set the journal aside and rubbed her eyes, it had been about an hour and a half since Brahms had left her to her own devices and she had not been able to put the journal down. It explained everything.

Brahms had started the fire, though Winnifred Heelshire did not know why. She hypothesized that perhaps it was because he was ashamed of what he had done, or perhaps because he knew that he would be taken away. Whatever the case, in his attempt to end his life and escape punishment he had inadvertently given his parents a way out. Lewis, his father, had saved him from the fire but he had been badly burned.

The firemen and police arrived to help put out the fire and fearing this would only confirm their son was guilty they hid him away in the walls. Years passed and just as Mr. Heelshire had said, it started a little bit at a time before eventually snowballing into the strange way of life they had been living when Greta had arrived.

Winnifred regretted so many things. She had nearly twenty years to think about it. She wished she had allowed them to take her son as perhaps they could have helped him, rehabilitated him and lessened his prolonged pain from the burns. Greta had been right to a degree as well, Mrs. Heelshire came up with the rules, but Brahms had modified them over the years. He had slowly manipulated and twisted his parents into never leaving, into giving him anything he wanted. His demands grew as he got older and his needs were becoming more complex. On top of that he grew more threatening, causing severe pain and discomfort to his parents when they broke the rules or refused to give him what he wanted.

For the first five years in the walls, Brahms was put through hell, wanting to leave, begging for forgiveness and promising to be good if they let him come out. He suffered reoccurring infections and to a rather harsh degree a loss of any and all affection or physical comfort his parents could have given to him. Rats made there way in, drawn by the food and they bit him and tormented him until finally the traps were placed. He suffered other misfortunes as well, not having yet learned the do's and don't's of being in the walls. He ran into nails, stepped on broken peices of wood and glass, the dust and dirt made it hard for him to breathe or keep clean. Needless to say, he was in hell.

It was around year six when the boy started to figure out how to exist in the walls. Learning to be quiet, learning which ways he could go, what areas were safe and how to get in and out undetected. He grew faster, more agile and less reliant on his parents. The doll was another factor, though it was hard to understand at first it seemed to Greta that the doll had been made for his benefit, not the Heelshire's. The doll was meant to represent Brahms, and therefore, all the love and attention the doll received from Brahm's parents was meant for him.

They continued to modify the arrangement, trying to both control, protect, and fix their son over years while Brahms grew bigger, more twisted and resentful. He turned the tables when he started to truly act out, aggressions towards his elderly parents becoming too much until _Brahms_ Offered them a way out.

He'd let them go on holiday if they could find someone to remain with him while they were gone. He no longer wanted to come out of the walls, liking the power it gave him to be unseen and having his location and what he may or may not be doing unknown.

That's when they started to bring in nannies. He killed three in total before they got to Greta and they hid their bodies far off the property of Heelshire manor. Lewis doing most of the work.

When his parents provided him with Greta their relief and guilt collided. They thought many times of turning her away and simply ending their lives instead. But Brahms had promised that if Greta was good to him he would love and care for her, he would not kill her and they could go on their trip without concern.

What they didn't tell their son was that as soon as they left the Heelshire's would not be back, instead choosing to end their lives together and face punishment from God. Even in the end, to some degree, they trusted their son, that if Greta did as was expected he would not harm her and he would love and care for her.

The journal ended with a rather pleading note from Winnifred to Greta, asking for her forgiveness and that if she managed to learn how to survive the man in the walls, to take care of him and try to soothe the beast that consumed her sweet little boy.

Greta could tell by the way Winnifred wrote that by the time she had added that little note, she was already far gone. Memories came of her first meeting with the Heelshire's and though at the time they simply seemed like a well-to-do couple that was only anxious to take a trip after so long at home she could now see it for what it was.

They had been on their last threads of sanity, using all they had left to present a united and normal front. In truth, they had left behind most of their sanity long ago. She was their final gift to their son, and they had honestly hoped and prayed that some good would come of this, that Brahms would, in fact, love and care for her and that perhaps a new and fresh person could soothe Brahms's ache for companionship.

They were in denial, their son was a serial killer, and Greta had been on his list from day one. Yet, he had not tried to kill her save for when she had stabbed him. Even then he had stopped himself. His brutality towards her had been minor, a hand slammed in the door, scratches that didn't bleed and forcing her to face Cole in the basement.

She wasn't justifying his actions, she never could nor would she want to. But he had yet to cross the lines from a mentally regressed young man with severe trauma into a full-blown psycho killer.

He had yet to kill Malcolm either. Something she had expected him to try multiple times. His extent of harm against Malcolm had been battery, a few blows to the face and threats that Brahms had yet to carry out.

In fact, the only person Brahms had killed since she came here was Cole, the man she had asked him to help her with. And while Greta had not actually wanted Cole killed, she had been rather vague as to what she had wanted from Brahms when she had asked for his help. Actually, if she thought about it, Brahms's first thought was to simply try to scare the man out. Using bloody writing on the walls as a way to get the man to leave. It wasn't until Cole destroyed the doll that Brahms had lost his control and attacked Cole.

 _Is there a way to control you? Is there any part of you that could be good? If I were to stay, would you really not hurt me if I just followed the rules? Could I spend the rest of my life trapped here? Never see my mother, sister or nephew again? Or are you so good at manipulation that I can't see past the end of my nose?_

"Greta?" and she jerks to look at the doorway, sees Brahms standing there in his mask holding a tray as the little boy voice rings in her head.

"I brought you a snack." the boy says and Brahms moves towards the bed, Greta shutting the journal and glances to the tray he sets on the bed.

"It's your favorite," Brahms says softly, his childlike voice so uncanny it makes her shiver. She spies two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, both cut in half and waiting on the tray.

She stares a moment before a small smile curls across her lips and she brings a hand to her forehead, giving a disbelieving laugh as tears come to her eyes. She sniffs a little before she looks up and says softly, "Thank you, Brahms." and takes up a half of sandwich before taking a bite.

Brahms continues to stand there, unmoving as he watches her eat, "Would you like to join me?" Greta asks after a slow contemplative chew and the man nods slowly before Greta makes room on the bed, "Come here, next to me." and she pats the bed as she continues to shift.

Moving onto the bed beside her Brahms crosses his legs and takes a piece of sandwich, raising his mask smoothly before he takes a bite and chews.

"You're reading Mummy's journal," Brahms says and Greta looks at him wide-eyed, hearing that childlike voice coming from that face is still a shock. One she may never get used to.

"Yes, your father left a note giving me permission to read it," Greta said carefully, waiting to see what Brahms's response would be.

"I was never allowed to read it." The boy says slowly, "Mummy said it was private. Is it naughty?" Brahms asks and Greta smirked and shook her head, "No, Brahms. It is your mother's private thoughts, her way of dealing with what happened to you."

Brahms said nothing as he held half of a sandwich in his hand but no longer ate it, "Because of Emily." The boy says softly.

"Yes. And the fact they had to hide you away." Greta offered, "Your parents thought knowing the whole story might help me take better care of you. But, Brahms, what I still don't understand is why you killed Emily."

Brahms looked away, pulled the mask down over his face and stared off so Greta carefully tried again, "Brahms-" she started as she placed a gentle hand on his knee, his head turned slowly, looking down at her hand before silver eyes found her. It was a rather creepy movement, so otherworldly yet human.

"Why did you kill Emily Cribbs? What happened that day in the woods?" she asked, wanting more than she realized to know the truth.

Brahms's head cocked to the side as if he was in thought, debating on whether he should tell her the truth, "Brahms, I already know you killed her, it doesn't scare me anymore. All I want to know is why? Did you get angry? Had you wanted to do it for a while? Did you want to hurt her?"

Brahms nodded slowly and then shook his head and Greta furrowed her brow and said softly, so gently and with great care, "Brahms, it's okay, use your words and tell me, please, can you do that?"

Brahms made a strange noise, something that sounded frustrated as a hand pulled at his hair before he stood from the bed and walked to the window, slamming hands on either side of it. Greta jumped at the noise but kept her eyes on him.

Brahms seemed to settle and the little boy spoke, slowly and seemingly with careful thought, "I like hurting people, but mummy and daddy say it's bad. I try not to." and Greta waited, silent and still as Brahm's now masked face turned to look at her, "Emily was mean, always stealing toys and breaking things. Mummy said she was spoiled. She took one of my presents. So I took her to the woods. Mummy said I shouldn't hurt things, animals or people, but I don't like animals and people are mean. I wanted to scare her."

Then Brahms moved quickly around the bed and Greta followed him, her body turning to shit ner the edge as Brahms kneeled next to it and said with excitement, "There was a dead bird I had found. I wanted to hurt her but I wasn't supposed to so I decided to scare her instead. I showed her the bird and Emily...got... _excited_." and the tone of his voice matches the word he spoke, the boy's voice losing its hold and the young man's shaking tone taking over, "She liked it, she wasn't scared. She picked it up and threw it, tossed stones at it...poked it with a stick. She asked if I had matches, she wanted to light it on fire! I got... _excited_...so excited...and I did...I had matches that I had taken from daddy's tobacco box. So, I lit it on fire for her, I thought she might understand, and I was so excited, so happy someone might understand. So, we watched the bird burn away…" He went silent and Greta pressed a hand through his hair gently, "It's okay Brahms, keep going, I'm right here. Tell me what happened next."

Brahms sighed at the gentle touch before he made a rather guilty and strangled moan, "I-I tried to...I just wanted a kiss. She didn't like it, started yelling at me, throwing rocks at me. I got scared, then angry and realized she didn't understand but I couldn't stop myself, I tried, I tried to stop but I was so excited and angry and I grabbed a rock and made her silent." and those silver eyes stared into Greta's, trying to make her understand, trying to make her see.

 _I like hurting people…._

It made more sense now, what had happened with Emily. Though Brahms from an early age had shown signs that would be likened to that of someone with low orbital cortex activity, he had been able to control himself to a degree. As in cases with most serial killers, they only ever acted out when the stress would become too much. In Brahms's case, when people acted out against him or tried to hurt him. It was an over-exaggerated self-defense mechanism. There were people who had low orbital cortex activity and weren't serial killers or psychopaths, but they had a very normal upbringing and were treated early with ways to help them control their stress and reach out for help versus acting out.

Greta figured the years spent in the walls, alone and physically neglected had a bigger effect on his final development. He very well could have become a functioning member of society if his parents had sought help early and the incident with Emily had not occurred. Hell, half of the best businessmen in the world had been diagnosed as functioning sociopaths.

"So, you like hurting people you like killing them," Greta said, though she already knew the answer. Between the strange stories she had read of Brahms's early years prior to killing Emily, his time spent in the walls and what had happened to the other nannies and Cole, it was clear that there was no saving Brahms. You can't rewire crazy. You can calm it for a time, maybe even reach some semblance of sanity for moments at a time, but in the end, Brahms could not change.

He would always take satisfaction in hurting others, and if anyone got in his way or tried to hurt him he would retaliate without thought. The amount of confusion in his mind about who and what he was would always get the better of him. He was an animal running on instinct.

"And someday, you will hurt and kill me, won't you Brahms," Greta says matter-of-factly.

She meets his eyes, sees them narrow before Brahms brings a shaky hand to her face, "Not you, Greta, you are mine to love and care for." and his voice is trembling, tumbling from that high pitched voice of the boy to that lower strained range of young man.

Greta leaned into the warmth of his palm, not realizing how acclimated she had become to his constant touching until this moment when she had gone nearly two hours without it. Setting her sandwich aside she reached down and took his hand in hers and for a moment a mischevious smile came to her face, "Brahms, how do you….how do you do that?" and she gently kneaded his hand between hers, gently pressing and rubbing at the muscles in his hand with her thumbs.

Brahms let out a relaxed sigh and asked in the voice of the boy, "What, Pretty Greta?"

"Talk like that? How did you learn to manipulate your voice so well? I've heard professional ventriloquists, and some of them can come really close, but I've never heard one as good as you. I've never even heard a voice actor who could portray a child so well."

A giggle came from behind the mask and Greta's smile grew wide, "Practice." was all he said and for a moment the wall between the boy and the man was broken. In that one word, he had admitted so much. He actively did it, he actively manipulated his voice, it wasn't a subconscious thing. He knew what he was doing.

"Mummy and Daddy didn't like my big boy voice, they only wanted to talk to the little boy, to the doll, so when my big boy voice started to come I kept talking like the boy, mummy said it was quite good and she seemed happy so I kept doing it. Mummy loves her sweet little boy. She didn't want him to go away, so I made sure he stayed." the boy said happily, and while the wall of conscious decision versus unconscious act due to some sort of unhinged reality had been broken Greta finally understood.

She thought back to the outburst Brahms had had the other day, his words moving through her mind slowly, _No! Mummy says I must speak in my proper voice! I am her sweet little boy, I must sound like her sweet little boy! I am a sweet little boy! Mummy wants her little boy, daddy wants the perfect son, you wanted a child of your own… a nice man like Malcolm…. Pretty Greta, what would you make me into in order to suit your fancy, I will become anything, if it pleases you, you are mine, to love and care for._

"Conforming to expectations in order to prolong the fantasy, to make them happy…." she whispered to herself before she looked at him and asked, "Brahms, did you love mummy and daddy?"

Those silver eyes found hers and the boy said softly, "Yes, mummy and daddy are good, nice, they loved me so I loved them." and he leaned in closer, the little boy voice disappearing as the young man spoke softly, "But not as much as I love you." and her eyes grew wide as Brahms's free hand came to press his mask up and he gently kissed her.

He pulled away only a little, seemingly waiting and Greta whispered, "You love me." she says with confusion her mind growing a little hazy at the sound of his voice.

"Oh yes, Pretty Greta, your mine to love and care for, and I will, care for and love you forever. No one will ever take you from me, no one will ever hurt you. Just me, and it will feel so good." and his voice was trembling, his hand tightening around her own but he didn't squeeze hard enough to hurt.

She pulls back, shakes her head a little before she turns away and moves to get off the bed, "I don't want to be hurt, Brahms, by you or anyone else-" but he has suddenly gripped her wrist, squeezes it tightly but it doesn't hurt, not yet, not like it had so many times before.

"You're too scared of what you _think_ pain is versus what it _actually_ is," Brahms says, the young man's voice solid and easy and at the sound of such clarity she looks back at him, her face confused but eyes curious.

"Greta, won't you kiss me?" he asked while leaning forwards and lips rubbed against her cheek before diving to give a gentle kiss to that spot on her neck that had betrayed her so many times before. When he came back to meet her eyes Greta felt something that scared her, something that made her heart pound in fear.

Desire.

"Don't be scared, I won't tell," Brahms whispered and Greta continues to stare, "What did you mean by that, Brahms? That I'm scared of what I think pain is? It's not normal to covet pain and fear. It's not what good people do." Greta says softly.

"Goodness is relative, Pretty Greta, a lie that normal people tell themselves because they don't want to face what's inside. Emily looked so pretty, but her insides were rotten. My mummy was beautiful, well-to-do, but look at what she did for her son. Everyone has a dark side Greta, and everyone wants to seek that dark, but no one is ever brave enough." and his lips caressed hers, a hand coming to tenderly press hair away from her face as his other arm gently wraps around her and pulls her back.

"Fear keeps us alert, keeps us alive. You must learn to trust fear, embrace it, fear is a friend, and can be used to make you stronger, faster and smarter." and he kisses her neck again, hands now running over her back before a palm moves around to take purchase on a breast.

Greta shutters, "And the pain?" she asks.

"Pain is just a response to stimulus, no worse than fear, it can make you do incredible things," Brahms whispers.

"Like attack someone after you've been stabbed?" Greta muses thinking back to how he had thrown her across the room and raised her up the wall all while a screwdriver stuck out of his stomach.

"And so much more, Pretty Greta. Think of pain as nothing but stimulus, a warning, it keeps you from going too far but can be so gratifying to feel at the right time."

"There is no right time-" and then she gasped as Brahms's hand slid down under her shirt and bra and fingers quickly pinched a nipple.

"Pain is beautiful. It heightens your senses, makes you feel _more_ of the pleasure. Like Cole, the pain he caused you, made your moment of silencing him so much more pleasurable."

"That was different-" Greta panted before Brahms pressed his lips to hers, his tongue sliding in as he kissed her deeply before he pulled away and whispered against her ear, "No. Let me show you, Pretty Greta, Please let me show you, pleeeease-" Brahms whined as a hand gently dragged nails across her scalp before gripping her hair firmly. She gasped, and as her eyes met his he saw how black they were, her darkness showing through, no trace of color and the boy giggled before the man whispered, "Let me…"

 **Page break**

Oh, the wonders of gentility. Brahms hummed as she kissed him, whimpered a little as her fingers came to run through his hair.

 _Yesyesyes, Pretty Greta, do it, touch me, let go and just….do-don't hurt her, not yet, she won't like it, not yet. But close, so close, maybe just a little taste of it, let me taste it...her fear, let me just-_

She pressed him back, moved on top of him…

 _She's lost now, yesyesyes, that's it, come to me, embrace me, love me, Pretty Greta, forget them, forget Malcolm, only me, just me, your sweet lovely naughty boy-_

He keeps his hands soft, gentle, doesn't grip too hard, doesn't hurt her but her lips leave his and find his throat, she kisses, licks sucks a moment and then….she bites.

 _Naughty Greta! Oh, naughtynaughtynaughty,_ "Greta, Greta more!" he cries out, near sobbing at the feel of such wonderful pain and pleasure swirling, she bites harder, nails racking down his chest and he can't stop himself, can't resist and hands find her shirt and yank. He hears the glorious sound of ripping fabric and he grows so excited.

 _Do it, show her, don't stop, no, she's ready, she will understand and she will love it, she will see. Greta Greta Greta, my Pretty Greta, I will show you!_

Her hips rock against his, nails dragging down his sides as his hands continued to yank at her shirt, pulling her bra so hard she hears it snap and come free. His fingers find her nipples, latching on and twisting them hard as he pinches and her back arches, her pelvis jutting forward and Brahms lets out a strangled cry as Greta makes so many beautiful noises.

He feels her hands come to his pants, trembling and aiming to open them but it's too soon.

 _Not yet, not yet, you must understand, you must see…._

Brahms feels the excitement, the desire near overwhelming to dig into her insides and make a mess but he must wait, just a moment longer. He shifts, rolling to get her under him, his foot kicking the tray off the bed and his hand swiping the journal off.

"No! You must wait, you must see." he hisses softly as he looks into her eyes…

 _Maintain eye contact, they like that, mummy says it's important, always maintain eye contact._

Greta looks confused but also wild and he nearly can't contain himself, wants to make a mess this instant and he might if he can't calm down. But he is so excited, his heart pounds, his stomach filled with butterflies at being able to show her so much sooner than he thought he could.

Brahm's takes her wrists in one hand, holding them tightly while she lays there panting, not fighting him and his body grows more excited, his breathing coming in heaves as he realizes how wonderful this will be to share.

 _Greta will understand after, she will see, I'm her light, she can explore the darkness with me, and I will make her safe, she'll want it all the time, every second, we'll be the same…_

His free hand grabs a suspender, rips it off, and more fabric seems to tear but he only giggles like the boy and licks his dry lips.

"Brahms, wait, what are you-"

"Wait, you'll see, Pretty Greta, you will only need to be restrained the first few times, then you won't need it, you'll see-"

"Restrained? What, Brahms, no, no stop!" Greta cries out in fear and his stomach explodes with butterflies at the sound of it.

"Easy, Pretty Greta, you'll see." he shudders out as he binds her wrists tightly before making a knot and attaching them to the headboard of the bed.

 _DO IT DO IT DO IT! DON'T STOP, SHOW HER, PRETTY GREAT, GRETAGRETA MINE MINE MINE TO LOVE AND CARE FOR TO SHOW THE DARKNESS AND BE HER LIGHT, TO LOVE AND CARE FOR, TO PLAY WITH! SHOW HER YOUR LOVE!_

Once she is secure, though she continues to pull at her binds desperately and tears have come to her eyes he grips at her pants, yanks them off and tosses them clear across the room. His hands grips at her panties and jerks, ripping them free as well as Greta continues to fight.

 _Oh, don't stop, keep fighting, I like when you fight! Cry, so many beautiful tears, my Pretty Greta, so beautiful when you cry! So beautiful when you scream!_

And he removes his mask fully, wishes he could keep it on, but knows for this he must not wear it, he must be exposed as she is and he shucks his green cardigan, yanks at his shirt. He lays down quickly, sees how hysterical she is getting and knows he must soothe her if he is to continue.

 _Yes, I know that much, I must soothe her if she is to see the truth, to know the secrets. Soothing my pretty Greta._

Brahms moves quickly, pressing her legs apart before he latches onto her womanhood with his mouth and Greta jerks and squirms fiercely. He sucks, licks and nips for a very long time, using his fingers as she taught him on her insides to make it feel so good and make her sing.

 _I know now, how it works, I know how you work Pretty Greta, how your insides work and I will take you to the very edge, but I won't let you sing, not yet, but soon, I know how you work now, you will see, be patient, be patient, I will show you…_

He remains buried between her thighs for a long time, and after a while, Greta stops squirming in fear and starts squirming in ecstasy. She's gasping and her body shakes and Brahms feels how tight his pants have grown. It's uncomfortable, it hurts but he likes that discomfort. His hips gently rut against the bed as he continues his work.

"Brahms, please, faster, deeper, do it harder-" Greta whispers out but Brahms doesn't comply. He remains slow and steady, building her up over this long period of time. His eyes crack open, look up the length of her body to see her pulling at the restraints. But it isn't a desperate pull, it's a pull of another kind, the kind that shows how her body is straining to reach an end and make a mess.

 _Almost time Pretty Greta, almost time, so close, must be patient must be...patient…_

Seeing her tied up, her sweet pink buds hard, her body trembling and face a wash of red cheeks, swollen lips, and dried tears she looks magnificent.

 _Soon there will be red, so much beautiful red, so much beautiful color and pleasure and pain and Greta will love it. She will love me and what I can give her, do to her, she will understand._

Brahms edges her closer and right as her body tightens he stops, the woman gasping in shock as she looks down at him in horror, "Brahms! Why did you s-stop, I was about to sing, be a good boy and finish-"

"Not yet, Pretty Greta, I must show you." Brahms says softly and then he is rising up ripping at his other suspender, before turning and tieing it tightly around her ankles, "No, no Brahms, please, don't-"

"Hush-" he says, trying to keep his voice so tender and calm, trying to be so patient and Greta goes silent, "You'll see, I'll show you," Brahms says as he finishes binding her ankles and then reached a hand to grip her breast tightly. Greta hisses as the grip but he can see in her eyes that she likes it, she's still excited even though she has yet to control her fear.

 _I'll teach her, I'll show her how to control it, so she can use it...so close, almost ready. And then I will make a mess inside you, make you make messes, make you love the pain._

He straddles her, both hands coming to caress and massage her breast before he squeezes too tight and brings his lips to that soft spot on her neck, the spot that he often uses to his advantage.

Greta moans beneath him, now tied up and truly at Brahms's mercy his excitement can barely be contained and he finds himself whining and giving light sobs and screeches as he isn't sure he can stop himself for much longer.

He pulls away, his hands gripping her hips as he presses her to lay on her stomach, the short length of suspender between her tied wrists and the headboard twisting as he does.

 _So close, Pretty Greta, so close so close so close, more, need more, can't make a mess yet, must wait, control it, show her, show her!_

Brahms shakes his head, tries to calm his inner voice, licks as his lips as he yanks her hips up, gets her on her knees with her face still pressed against the bed. He messages her backside, fingers faintly running over her womanhood as he keeps her calm, gets her ready….

 _Almost there, oh my Pretty Greta, so close…_

He'd thought of all the ways he could show her, had left her to sleep alone so he could practice, make sure he does it right, so he can hurt her but not make her insides come to the outside. He knows how now, he practiced, he's a good boy.

 _And once she sees, once she understands she will want me to be her naughty boy all the time!_

His hands yank at his own pants, press them down before he reaches for his cardigan, shoves a hand desperately into the pocket and from inside pulls out a small pocket knife. A movement captures his attention and he sees Greta trying to glance back at him.

She's been so quiet, so well behaved, he will have to reward her, but he can't let her ruin the surprise. He holds the knife behind his back, leans closer and whispers, his voice high pitched but still that of a young man, "N-no peeking, Pretty Greta. Almost time, then you'll see." and the boy's giggle slips out and he pants happily as he pressed hair out of her eyes and looks at her.

Tied up and helpless, her body exposed and ready, he feels his body pulsing, twitching as the excitement and with the knife now set next to him on the bed he moves closer and aligns his core with hers and then slowly presses in.

He hears her gasp, can hear her murmur words of affirmation and smiles wickedly.

 _TAKE HER HARD, BREAK HER, HURT HER, NO, NOT YET, MUST WAIT, SO CLOSE BUT NOT YET!_

He moves slowly, brings fingers underneath her raised hips to stroke Greta just like she taught him and he feels her body react, feels it tighten and prepare to make a mess. He's elated to see her respond so openly to him, so ready for him, but he must wait, be a good boy and not rush.

It's growing darker in the room, no lights are on and he thinks that when the darkness finally comes she will be ready. He moves a little quicker and right when he feels her body tighten again, just as it's about to make a mess he once again stops.

Greta suddenly barks out desperately, "Stop edging and let me cum!" Brahms stills at that and repeats the words over in his mind, _edging, cum…._

"Is that what I am doing, Pretty Greta?" he whispers in that trembling voice and Greta seems to groan in frustration, his nails dig into her backside and he waits a moment longer before he starts rocking against her again, waits even longer to start using his fingers.

"I must do it, must make you ready, must make you want it, need it, so more edging, lots more edging-" Brahms mutters and he feels Greta's body tighten again, faster than last time so he stops cold and his Pretty Greta gives something close to a sob and tries to move her backside closer, tries to pump against him on her own but Brahms withdrawals.

"Not yet, more edging, more more more," Brahms whispers as a finger glides over the knife next to him as his other hand caresses her backside. She whines and Brahms loves the sound of it. The control and power, the excitement and pleasure of it all, he won't be able to stop himself for much longer, but soon enough, Greta will understand and she won't fight him anymore.

 **A/N: I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Lot is going on but the next chapter should be the escape. I keep putting it off cause the timing isn't right. R &R and I will try to post sooner than last time I am sorry again about the wait!**


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